The Girl At The Shelter A Collection Of Thrillers

By Sean McVay

West Oakland might not be the safest place to live, but for Heather McIntyre it's an upgrade. At least, it seems that way until women from the shelter where she works begin turning up dead. 

Heather sees the murders as mere coincidences - a mirror of her terrifying past. But then her new boyfriend is found murdered and the police think Heather knows more than she lets on. 

And the detectives are correct. Heather knows who is responsible. A serial killer that has followed her to Oakland, a monster that she can't escape.

• Language: English
• Publisher: Trellis Publishing
• Release date: Jul 1, 2021
• ISBN: 9798201116668

Book preview

THE GIRL AT THE SHELTER

SEAN MCVAY

TABLE OF CONTENTS

THE GIRL AT THE SHELTER

THANATOPHOBIA

SCENE OF THE CRIME

I’LL PISS ON YOUR GRAVESTONE

BLOODSHOT

The new girl’s face was bruised and bloody. A dried crust of blood smeared one cheek and another trail of flaking red blood ran down her chin. The girl, Amy Callistan, seemed to know how she looked and kept her head down and her eyes averted as Heather showed her around the women’s shelter. 

Are you sure you don’t want to go to the doctor? Heather asked Amy for the third time as she led the girl down the hallway towards her new room. She wasn’t trying to be pushy. In Heather’s experience, many people leaving abusive relationships were afraid to take care of their needs—no matter how pressing—for fear of upsetting, or even just inconveniencing, other people. Lord knew Heather had declined help plenty of times when she was with—well better not to think about him.

No, I’m fine, Amy quietly said. 

Heather nodded. Okay. But if you end up changing your mind just let me know. If I’m not here, there’s always someone at the front desk. You can always go to them, okay?

Amy bobbed her head up and down quickly. I will.

Heather knew from the girl’s intake that she was only twenty years old, still figuring out her place in the world. She hadn’t talked much about the fresh bruises and blood, but Heather didn’t need to ask to know where those came from. Even though Amy might not realize it just yet, coming to the shelter was a huge step in becoming an independent, self-sufficient adult. And most importantly, a safe adult.

This is your room, Heather said as she took the key attached to Amy’s file on the clipboard in her hands and unlocked the door. Heather stepped inside and switched on the light.

The room was a tiny studio furnished with Ikea furniture. It was cozy, although the walls were plain and there were no windows. A door in the back led to a bathroom and another to a closet.

Amy walked to the center of the cramped room, taking it all in as her eyes darted everywhere, never settling on one spot for more than a fraction of a second.

This key is for you, Heather said, holding out the key she had just used to open the door. Don’t forget you have an appointment with your new caseworker tomorrow at 11 am. There are some rules you have to follow to stay here, but they are reasonable and in place for the benefit of everyone here. This is a safe space where you can take some time to regroup and restructure your life in a healthy, positive way. We’ll help you get back on your feet and in your own place in no time.

Amy nodded and her gaze settled on the black screen of the television.

And we have Netflix. The remote is on the nightstand next to the dresser. That door behind you to your left is a closet, and to your right is a bathroom, there’s even a shower in there.

Amy picked up the remote and turned on the TV. A variety of different apps popped up.

We don’t have Hulu anymore, but we’re looking at getting it back, Heather added. Is there anything else I can help you with? Amy shook her head.

Heather walked to the door and paused before leaving. Okay, well if you think of anything, just ask. I’m happy that you’re here. Goodnight.

Goodnight, Amy quietly replied as she scrolled through the endless Netflix options. Heather smiled and left the room, closing the door behind her.

Volunteering at the women’s shelter in West Oakland that she had stayed at for two months when she was at her lowest filled Heather with a sense of lightness. Of purpose and power. She knew she was making a difference in these women’s lives, just as the other volunteers had made a difference in her life when she most needed it. The work could be draining though, especially since she did it on top of working at Milky Way Coffee during the day. 

Lately, she’d gotten in the habit of having a drink or two at Savoy’s after leaving the shelter for the night. It was a newly opened bar with a bohemian atmosphere—red lights, old books on the walls, a bean bag pit—and most importantly they always had a three dollar special. 

As soon as Heather entered the bar, a handsome dark-haired man in a t-shirt and blazer waved at her from a booth near the back and called out, Heather!

She smiled and felt warm. Dillon had taken to meeting her here after she finished her volunteer shift at the shelter, and he always had a drink waiting for her—whatever the three-dollar special was. It was their tradition. 

Dillon scooted over in the booth and Heather slid in. He wrapped his arm around her and she leaned against him. Dillon kissed her forehead and asked, How was it today?

Heather smiled sadly. Good and bad. As always. A young girl came in today, real beat-up. I felt so bad for her and just wanted to hug her, but she was skittish and I didn’t want to invade her boundaries. I’m glad she’s there but sad that she was in a situation that made her have to go there.

Heather reached in front of her and took the drink that waited for her. It was cocktail in a tall narrow glass, but in the red light, Heather couldn’t tell what cocktail it was. She took the glass in her hands and felt the cool condensation on her skin as she took a sip of the drink.

She winced and stuck out her tongue. Bleh. What is this?

Dillon laughed and took a sip of his identical drink. He grimaced and shook his head. I don’t know. Something Albert made up.

Behind the long counter on the other side of the bar, Albert the bartender was busy whipping up drinks for a group of trendy looking middle-aged adults who Heather assumed were architects or painters or something like that. Albert was a friendly bartender and quick to get a drink in your hand, but he was fond of coming up with his concoctions that never seemed to come together into a drinkable cocktail. 

Heather sipped her drink anyway, then looked up at Dillon and asked, So how many kitty-cats did you pull out of trees today anyway? 

No kitty cats today, Dillon said, warmly smiling at Heather. I’ve got the next two days off before I’m back on at the fire station.

A devious grin crept across Heather’s face. So you mean I have you all to myself?

That’s right, Dillon answered.

Well, what are we doing here then? Quick! To my apartment for some naked fun time!

Dillon laughed, then leaned in and kissed her. His lips were soft and his stubble perfectly coarse. Heather slipped him the tongue and they forgot about the rest of the bar for a few moments.

Despite Heather’s words, they stayed for another thirty minutes sipping their unpleasant cocktails and laughing at each other’s jokes before saying goodbye to Albert and taking an Uber to Heather’s apartment. As soon as they were inside and the door shut, Heather took off Dillon’s shirt and kissed his leanly muscled chest with her plush lips. She brought her mouth lower and licked his abs, then her fingers were working the buttons on his jeans.

Outside thunder cracked, quickly followed by the rain pelting the roof and window of her apartment. Inside the couple played around on the couch, then joined together in the bedroom. When the next roll of thunderstruck Heather was bucking and biting her lip as she moaned in pleasure. 

It was a busy day at Milky Way Coffee. Customers came in nearly non-stop, and during the small downtime in between rushes Heather had to wipe tables and clean up the seating area. By the time her shift had ended her brain was fried from having taken countless orders in rapid succession. All she wanted to do was go to Savoy’s and have a drink with Dillon. But she committed the women’s shelter, and she believed in following through on her commitments. 

Heather took an Uber to the shelter, not loving spending the extra money, but also not wanting to walk the mile and a half to the shelter at night. The neighborhood might be getting nicer, but it still wasn’t safe, especially when it was dark out. The Uber smelled too much of flowery perfume and the driver’s choice of evangelical rasta music tested her patience. When the car pulled in front of the shelter she eagerly stepped out, thankful for the fresh air.

The West Oakland Women’s Shelter was located in an old apartment building originally constructed in the early ’30s. The worn building was made of red brick and stood three stories tall with a shingled roof that leaked in places. The windows were large where they existed, but the building was squat and deep and many rooms lacked a single window.

Heather walked up to the concrete steps to the large wooden front door and swung it open. Her flatwork shoes clacked against the