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

and when he looked again out over the water the thought of slipping over the side of the boat set his teeth chattering. Waves slapped at the hull, rocking the small fishing vessel.

“What are you waiting for?” With that, his father pushed him hard and Tobias toppled headfirst into the sea.

The water was freezing cold and he came up spluttering and gasping for air, and when his thin body started to sink below the surface once more he felt himself panic. He lashed out with his arms, which splashed water into the boat and over his father.

“Use your legs! Kick with your legs! You kept saying you wanted to learn how to swim, well now’s your chance.”

Tobias saw him lift the fishing pole and reach towards him with it, and for a fleeting moment he thought he was trying to help him back to the boat. Instead, he used the end of it to propel him even further away, out towards the lobster pot.

“Grab the damn thing then!”

Tobias somehow flung himself at the square pot and the orange buoy and he clung to them in relief, using them to keep himself afloat. On the boat, his father was laughing, enjoying the spectacle.

Tobias turned back. The small motor-launch seemed so far away, even though in reality it was only a few boat-lengths. Below him, he could sense the black depths of the water.

“Bring it back over. Push it in front of you and use your legs to swim. Get a move on now!”

Heaving the pot around, and also keeping a grip on the buoy, Tobias splashed and gasped his way back over, and when he was close enough his father grabbed a hold and lifted it on board, his eyes looking greedily at the pair of lobsters inside.

Tobias held out his hand. He was too weak to climb on board without help.

Meeting his gaze, Tobias’ father slowly shook his head.

“Can’t do that son. The boat has too shallow a draft. You’ll tip us over if I pull you in.”

“But dad… I need help…I’m sinking…” he gasped.

“Rubbish! Don’t talk nonsense.” He cackled with more laughter. “But don’t worry, we’ll get you back home. Maybe not in one piece if the crabs bite you, but we’ll get you there somehow!”

Tobias watched as he spun away and tugged the pull-cord on the outboard motor and the engine roared to life, and he dipped the propeller into the sea and suddenly the rope tied to Tobias was yanked taut and away they went, his father steering them towards home and his son hauled violently through the sea on the end of the line.

The waves slapped him painfully on the stomach as he skimmed over the surface of the water and his face was pulled under so that seawater poured up his nostrils and into his eyes and mouth, and Tobias craned his neck sideways so that his face lifted clear. He coughed and spat out the water, choking and crying and pleading for his father to stop, but to no avail. Instead his old man gave him a cheery wave and increased their speed.

The nightmare went on seemingly forever with Tobias barely able to remain conscious. His gloves disappeared at some stage and within minutes his bare hands and face were covered in tiny lacerations from the continuous impact of the waves, and by the time they finally, mercifully reached the shore he could barely move as his limp body washed up onto the pebble beach.

From somewhere he dimly heard footsteps crunching their way towards him, and then a pair of huge hands were reaching down and lifting him up, and Tobias felt himself being slung over his father’s shoulder. He was carried away from the boat, his father whistling another silly tune without a care in the world.

He kept drifting in and out of sleep so weak was he, but Tobias managed to open his eyes and was just able to register that they were heading down the dirt track, going past the three-barred gate leading to their yard. Instead, they were making for the old junkyard, the place where his father tinkered around with his old cars and boats, the place full of rusted scrap metal and engine parts.

Up the sloping, muddy grass they went, Tobias too tired to resist or even protest.

Just ahead was a flat river barge that had been hauled up out of the water. Father spent his spare time trying to fix it up and make it sea-worthy again, and sometimes he allowed Tobias to help out after school, to even use the welding gear if he asked nicely. But he sensed that today they were going there for a very different reason.

Up onto the deck, the sound of boots on the steel hull reverberating dully.

A loud scraping, then the noise of old hinges protesting loudly and Tobias watched as a  heavy hatch was pulled open to reveal the dark and hollow interior of the barge’s hold.

He felt himself pushed roughly through the opening, and only now when he realized what was happening did Tobias find the strength to struggle and fight back.

“No, please dad, I’m sorry.”

His father ignored him and pushed him away, easily brushing off Tobias’ hands.

There was more scraping of boots on metal, then the hatch was slammed shut with a ringing boom, and the pitch blackness closed over Tobias.

For a moment there was near-total silence except for his own tiny, shaky breathing.

Then he heard a sound. A quiet scuffling nearby, from somewhere in the total, all-consuming dark.

Sitting and hugging himself, shivering from cold and terror, Tobias listened as the rats crept closer.

Pieter needed some fresh air.

He thanked Saskia and hurried outside, where he stood on the pavement and sucked in several great lungfuls of air to clear his mind.

Jesus, he thought to himself.

Next, he drove back to the boatyard on Bickersgracht where Tobias Vinke worked.

Throughout the previous afternoon following the shooting, the site had been thoroughly searched by teams of officers, and police