Jobmobbers: Under the Watchful Eye of the Coyote

By Patricia Komar

Link Aerospace Corporation recruits Dawn MacGregor right after she graduates from MIT. Thrilled, she moves to Boulder, Colorado, ready to start a brand-new life and career.

Early on, however, strange things begin happening. Someone keys her car, and her belongings are moved around or go missing entirely. It seems some of her new coworkers have decided to sabotage her, and soon it goes well beyond minor damage and pranks. The mob targets her with actions that are increasingly dangerous, and Dawn begins to deteriorate psychologically and physically. As the world she once knew becomes a distant reality, the only constant in her life is a coyote that appears regularly just beyond the tree line across from her turn-of-the-century Victorian home, seemingly keeping watch over her. Dawn must try to put the jobmobbers in their placebefore their bullying threatens her life.

In this suspenseful novel, a woman faces vicious workplace bullies in a struggle that may end with her death unless she can find a way to fight back.

• Language: English
• Publisher: iUniverse
• Release date: Nov 21, 2015
• ISBN: 9781491775578

Patricia Komar

Patricia Komar lives in a village nestled in the mountains of the Pacific Northwest. Weaving storylines through landscapes she has explored from the Canadian and Colorado Rockies to the severe hiking trails of the Swiss Alps, and lastly while meandering in her canoe and kayak in serene bays of the San Juan Islands, Patricia spends this time imagining characters and tales for her next book. She writes fiction books and has been a featured writer for Modern Dog Magazine and USA Today Magazine. Patricia studied Expressive Arts Therapy and Education at the European Graduate School in Switzerland along with studies in New York, Colorado and British Columbia. See more at www.patriciakomar.com

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Copyright © 2014, 2015 Patricia Komar.

All rights reserved. No part of this book may be used or reproduced by any means, graphic, electronic, or mechanical, including photocopying, recording, taping or by any information storage retrieval system without the written permission of the author except in the case of brief quotations embodied in critical articles and reviews.

This is a work of fiction. All of the characters, names, incidents, organizations, and dialogue in this novel are either the products of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously.

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ISBN: 978-1-4917-7556-1 (sc)

ISBN: 978-1-4917-7557-8 (e)

Library of Congress Control Number: 2015916015

iUniverse rev. date: 11/20/2015

Contents

Dawn MacGregor Wednesday Afternoon

Dawn MacGregor August Monday Morning

Arana Skudlarick August

Dawn MacGregor Monday

Arana Skudlarick Later That Evening

Dawn MacGregor Friday of Week Two

Arana Skudlarick September

Dawn MacGregor Morning of the Full Moon in October

Arana Skudlarick Friday Early Evening of the Full Moon in October

Dawn MacGregor Later That Evening

Arana Skudlarick Even Later That Evening

Dawn MacGregor Early Morning of the October Full Moon

Dawn MacGregor Monday

Dawn Macgregor The Wee Hours of Tuesday Morning

Dawn MacGregor November

Dawn MacGregor A November Monday

Dawn Macgregor A November Friday

Dawn MacGregor Saturday in November

Dawn MacGregor Next Monday of November

Dawn MacGregor Tuesday Evening of November

Dawn MacGregor The Long Weekend in November

Dawn MacGregor A Wednesday Morning in December

Arana Skudlarick A December Afternoon

Dawn MacGregor Springtime

Dedication

Judy, you hung the moon and stars, big sister, for me to navigate by, while Ed, dear husband, held the earth.

I found the way.

Dawn MacGregor

Wednesday Afternoon

Something is wrong. I sense it as I drive my red German sports car to the top of the hill, slowing down a bit and crawling up to the intersection. I try to push the feeling aside. The light turns green, and I turn left without stopping. Now the wild part—the long descent down the hill. My car picks up speed, really moving now. I have to admit I’m enjoying this ride, especially after the meeting I’ve just been through and considering what they’ve done. The jobmobbers. All of them. Unbelievable!

That sense that something’s wrong quickly dissipates as I open the windows, allowing the wind to gust through. My hair flies up through the sunroof as I imagine all the stress from every one of the meetings with the jobmobbers sliding up each strand of hair, grasping at the ends, and getting blown off and carried away with the wind. The sarcasm, the lying, the sneering, the sneaking around they’d planned and executed—swirling and swirling out the windows into the air. Faster and faster.

My car’s nearly flying, and my stress is peeling off, soaring, captured by the wind, dissipating into the void. Faster, faster! The speedometer screams out in red, You’re speeding, idiot! Don’t you know that’s how they make angels? I’m nearing the intersection. I scan for pedestrians and police.

A little faster, and then I’ll slow down. Everything’s blown off. I feel so light.

But the green dot at the bottom of the hill changes to red. Okay. Okay. Time to slow down. With my foot, I feel around for the brake and press. The brakes feel soft, spongy. I pump again, pressing the brake firmly to the floor. Nothing. My brakes are totally nonexistent. My little red car dips and jolts as it hits a pothole and begins picking up even more speed, racing like a ghost is driving it.

Now I can clearly see the intersection at the bottom of the hill. My instincts are warning me that I’m heading for trouble. It’s a school crossing. I try the brakes again. Nothing. I glance at the clock, hoping kids won’t be crossing.

My mind’s speeding into overdrive, thoughts flying out the window. What can I do? Why won’t my brakes work? Should I try the emergency brake at this speed? I’m nearing the intersection at breakneck speed. The light’s still red. No other cars. No kids! Here I go. I have no choice.

I speed through the red light and careen down the road, pumping wildly. I reach the bottom of the steep drive and begin going uphill, slowing but not soon enough.

The curb! I can use the curb! Slow down just a bit more. My seat belt! I forgot my seat belt! Why didn’t I buckle my seat belt?

Pump, pump, pump. Pump, pump, pump. I try the emergency brake, but with all the potholes and trying to hold the steering wheel at the same time, I can’t do it. Forget about it. I turn the wheel. A loud scraping of metal against cement is followed by a loud thud. The car bangs against the curb. I shoot forward, and my body pounds into the exploding air bag. The car flips over, turning a somersault in midair before it crashes in the weeds.

What’s happening? My right foot is convulsing wildly below the bag, flapping uncontrollably, up, down, up, down. I can’t control it. My heart’s beating so loudly. My breaths are coming in shallow gulps. The whole scene flashes in my mind; I replay the ride. My body relives the frightful spinning.

Then everything slows down. I can feel my right foot, the one that tried so hard to stop my red car. The convulsing slowly subsides. I push the bag away from my body and instinctually reach for my purse. Forget it. I push open the door and step out on to the road. Like melted cheese, my legs collapse underneath my body. I fall to the ground, loose gravel finding a new home in the bloodied skin of my knees. I get an up-close-and-personal look at the asphalt road as my head hits. Thud!

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Coyotes howl somewhere in the distant mountains. I am facedown in my blue tent. I can hear one coyote cry out, and another coyote answers with a deeper call. The howling chorus of coyotes seems to be getting closer and closer. I try to move, but I can’t feel my legs. I can’t move my arms. I’m drifting off again.

Voices are trying to wake me from my mountain slumber. Now the coyotes are getting louder. I can’t hear what the voices are saying. Suddenly the coyotes stop. I realize they aren’t coyotes—they’re sirens. I’m not camping. More voices. I try to open my eyes. Fingers are touching me. My eyes open. I see only blackness, and the voices seem to get farther and farther away, finally disappearing into a little dot of sound. A swirling feeling takes over my body, swirling around and around. Everything turns blue, a turquoise blue.

I see the lake. The air is dry with the scent of pine needles, the kind of fresh pine needles with sap that sticks to your fingers. I hear a breeze as it passes through the aspens, their leaves twittering. I go into that dream world, dreaming of my camping trip, where it all began.

Deep in the mountains of Montana, my small turquoise pup tent is a stark contrast against the deep emerald-green meadows. My bare legs dangle from the flat-topped rock where I sit. A creek rolls over stones and cools my feet. I wiggle my toes and watch the clear water run between each single toe. So cool.

No better place than the mountains of Montana to figure out what to do with my life. The head office on the East Coast has offered me an amazing position at one of two divisions: Boulder or Albuquerque. I have to decide which one it’ll be. Thoughts of where I’d been, where I started, and how I made it to where I am now flash in front of my eyes.

It wasn’t that long ago that I graduated with an aerospace engineering degree from the Massachusetts Institute of Technology and a degree in business management from Harvard. I had the credentials, the drive, the motivation, and—most of all—a sense of pride.

My professors told me I had the potential to be successful. MIT had offered me a full ride, handing me a scholarship on a silver platter. Otherwise, there wasn’t a hope in hell of me ever being able to attend a university or even a state college near my hometown of Athens, Georgia.

I’m the first from a long line of MacGregors to graduate from a university. My family, the MacGregors, have always felt a sense of pride in whatever jobs any of the relatives hold.

My grandmother once told me, You have potential. You can be a role model for other females.

Mom told me, You have the world in your hands.

Dad said, Nothing can stop you. You’re headstrong and determined, and you always finish what you start.

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Link Aerospace Corporation—a good, solid company—recruited me right out of university and offered me a position at their main site. I worked on government and private contracts for more than a decade. The corporation was booming and developed six satellite locations throughout the United States. Headquarters was looking at giving me a promotion.

I’m seriously considering the new position in New Mexico or Colorado. On the flight to Colorado, I sat next to Jim; he called himself an old-timer native Coloradoan. I told him I was interested in Colorado, and he shared unbelievable tales of the Colorado pioneer days. His stories were about early Denver, the gold mines, faces on the barroom floors in the mountain town of Central City, and the Cornish people who settled there and in Blackhawk. They also built the rock walls in those two mountain towns.

I have an opportunity to work in the Boulder area. I hoped he might know a little about the town.

Boulder began during the gold rush of the 1850s. Miners would come down from the mountains to stock up on supplies. Boulder became known as a supply town. Oh, I better tell you about Niwot’s Curse.

Niwot’s curse? Do you mean to say Boulder’s cursed? I asked. Maybe this isn’t the place for me.

Oh, yeah. Chief Niwot, you see, appreciated the beauty of the Boulder Valley. He said that people will come to Boulder and see this beauty, and they all will want to stay. In doing so, they will ruin the beauty of the valley. And that, young lady, is Niwot’s Curse.

The plane began its descent to the cream-colored teepee-like structures of the Denver International Airport. Turbulence hit, and the plane bounced along air potholes that dotted the highway in the air. I checked my seat belt.

Jim leaned over and in a low voice said, There are some who say the airport’s cursed too ’cause it may be on previously Indian land. I’m not so sure, but I always check my seat belt too … just in case.

I pulled mine even tighter as one wing dipped down. I thought it was going to clip