A State Of Sin Amsterdam Occult Series Book Two by Mark Hobson (golden son ebook .TXT) 📕

It was bizarre. It was creepy and disturbing. Everything left exactly as it would be if the place had been filled with patients and medical personnel; the only thing missing was the people themselves.

Just like the legendary ship The Mary Celeste.

Done with looking around and realizing he was getting nowhere with his musings, Pieter stepped back through the swing doors and continued, this time following the red line.

Shortly afterwards he reached the point where it disappeared down the cross-hallway and he cautiously peered around the corner, his hand poised to grab the butt of his gun. To his relief, the two security guards were nowhere to be seen. They had apparently upped and left along with everybody else, determined to be as far away as possible before the police descended. Pieter walked down the short hall and paused outside the wide door.

Beyond here were the two operating theatres, and although he was certain they would also be deserted, something made him hesitate. But only briefly. He pushed the door open.

Pieter found himself in a small and enclosed space, and his eyes did a quick scan around, seeing a nurses station covered in slim cardboard packages and a row of disposable urine bottles, each one full, plus some medicine cabinets and a discarded oxygen tank.

A pair of doors signed 1B and 2AB led off from the anteroom.

He was thinking once more about Kaatje, and what they had done to her inside one of the theatres, and he realized he had no real desire to go and take a look because the very idea made him feel queasy. Besides, opposite him was another set of doors, and the sign above drew his attention.

UNIT 1 – RED ZONE

The most restricted part of the clinic he surmised, from reading the notice declaring no admittance without top-level clearance. The place where patients were sent for the SPECIAL PROCEDURE according to the files on Visser’s desk.

This time, before he hit the button that opened the sliding door, Pieter withdrew his gun and flicked off the safety. Then he went through.

He was standing in a dimly lit room that stretched away before him. Down the centre of the ceiling was a single strip light, turned right down so that the place was filled with shadows and blind spots. Nevertheless, the bright light from the anteroom behind him cast enough illumination over his shoulders for him to see by.

Down each side was a double row of hospital beds. He could see that these were quite basic compared to those in the expensive-looking aftercare ward he had just left. There was no comfy seating area either, just a drab and dirty floor down the middle leading to a blank wall at the far end, and there were no bedside tables or visitors chairs either. No windows, and no heating. A very dingy and uninviting hospital ward then, he thought, with absolutely no frills. So much for the high fees and world-class care that the website liked to boast about. Perhaps this area was reserved for the poorer residents, those who claimed off their medical insurance, rather than the well-off clientele who paid with their gold credit cards.

Also, that wasn’t the only thing different about this ward.

For this one wasn’t empty.

Each bed was occupied by a sleeping figure, lying flat on their backs in matching sets of pale blue pyjamas, their faces in shadow.

Pieter stood stock still, a tremor of dread rippling through his body. Which was stupid, he knew. They were just hospital patients, nothing more than that, left behind by the medical staff in their blind panic to flee. They were probably frightened and confused as to what was going on.

With an effort, he turned and moved slowly over to the nearest bed.

It contained a man’s sleeping form. He was lying underneath the sheets, but his arms were on the outside and flat down at his sides, and what he could see of his face in the dimness revealed thin and very pale features. Pieter leaned down for a closer look.

He flinched suddenly and snapped his head away, and his left hand came up to his mouth as bile rushed up into his throat, making him gag and retch, and he just about stopped himself from vomiting in revulsion.

The man had no eyes.

They had not been burned away like Kaatje’s, or even surgically removed. He simply had no eyes. In their place was an area of soft and perfectly smoothed-over flesh. Like he had never had any eyes, as though they had never formed during his life, and in their place was this shallow, empty area beneath his heavy brows.

Pieter staggered back on his heels and nearly toppled over. Quickly regaining his senses, he moved on to the next bed.

Here lay another man, older than the first, and once again with that empty gaze staring sightlessly up at the ceiling. In fact, it was impossible to know if he was asleep or wide awake.

Spinning away, Pieter stumbled across the centre aisle to the opposite row of beds, and this time found himself looking down at a young woman, perhaps in her mid-twenties, with long, golden hair. Beautiful under normal circumstances, until his gaze fell upon the centre of her face at the blank space below her eyebrows.

Further along he spotted a smaller figure lying in a bed, this one a child, and Pieter dashed down, wondering if this was…

Yes. He could recognize the face, even with the missing bloodshot eyes. The five or six year old boy from the photo in the file – PATIENT 27.

Pieter felt a sense of pity, even shame, grip him, and he was about to avert his gaze when he saw the boy lying before him stir.

He watched as the child’s face slowly turned in his direction. Like he was looking straight at Pieter, which just wasn’t possible. And the tiny hand came up and reached out beseechingly. The lips of the small mouth