The Invitation-kindle

by Michael McKinney

  “How so?”

  “His face seemed flooded with empathy and concern. He shook his hand.”

  “You mean Ken Myers shook your friend’s hand.”

  “That’s right. At the same time he put his other hand on Mike`s shoulder, almost to reassure him in some way. When I told him we were going up to see his parents for the weekend he immediately asked if he could come with us.”

  “You didn’t expect that.”

  “No, I was completely shocked. I was so surprised, I didn’t know what to say. Before I could say anything Mike said, ‘Sure, come with us there’s plenty of room.’ I told him again we’re going to visit his parents, thinking that might dissuade him. It didn’t. He just said he was ready to go, so he got a few things, and the three of us got into Mike’s car and started driving. It was strange. Myers was very clear in asking to ride in the front seat that night. I remember that. So, we’re riding along, and they’re doing most of the talking. I’m sitting in the back seat thinking to myself; what’s going on? This is the same Ken Myers who prior to that never, I mean never, went anywhere. Anyway, we drove on into open country. The week before it had rained for six days straight. It was about 8:30 on a Friday night. It was dark. I had no idea where we were. We made a turn on to a secondary road, and drove about a mile, when I heard Ken say to Mike ‘please stop the car for a minute,’ so Mike slows the car to a stop. I’m in the back seat wondering what’s going on. Then Ken reaches over, and takes the key out of the ignition, and just looks at Mike. A few seconds pass. Then we hear this enormous crash. , Mike says, ‘Oh God I think that’s the bridge.’ ‘What bridge?’ I said. Then Ken gives Mike the ignition key, and says, ‘go very slowly.’ So we slowly make a turn in the road, and see the river in the headlights. A section of the bridge we were about to drive over had just collapsed. We wouldn’t have had a chance. There is no doubt in my mind that if Ken Myers didn’t ask him to stop the car that night we would’ve drowned.”

  “And you think that Ken Myers knew that was going to happen?”

  “Yes I do. Why else would he take the keys out of the ignition?”

  “Did you ask him?”

  “Both of us did.”

  “What did he say?”

  “He said he thought he heard something cracking.”

  “Did that sound plausible?”

  “Not at all.”

  “Why not?”

  “We were in the car. The windows were rolled up. It was raining. The motor was running. We didn’t hear anything.”

  “What did you do?”

  “We called the State Police, and told ̓em what happened, then we turned the car around, and turned on our four way lights to warn others until the cops came.”

  “And then?”

  “Mike called his parents to let ̓em know he was okay, and then we drove back to campus.”

  “You didn’t make it to your friend’s house that weekend?”

  “No way, we were spooked. We didn’t want to cross any bridges in the dark, not that night. We went straight back the way we came. I was pretty shook up. Seeing that river was unnerving.”

  “Sounds like a harrowing experience,” Colby says.

  “It was. I couldn’t sleep that night.”

  “What was Ken Myers reaction?”

  “Completely unaffected. Mike and I were still jittery when we got back. We asked him to come with us to get something to eat, but he just wanted to get back to his books, and that’s what he did.”

  “Did you ever make the trip again?”

  “We did, several times.”

  “But not Ken Myers?” Agent Colby asks.

  “He wasn’t interested. Mike asked ̓him to come with us, but it never happened. It was bizarre. For the entire time I knew Ken Myers, and granted it was only three months, but still, the only time I heard him express any interest in going anywhere for any reason was that night when the bridge collapsed.”

  “So you’re saying Ken Myers had some kind of foreknowledge about the bridge collapse.”

  “I’m thoroughly convinced of it. I’ve thought about it a lot. When I introduced Mike to Ken Myers, he had a strange reaction to him.”

  “Myers had a strange reaction.”

  “That’s right, before Mike said a word it was like he was in, some kind of heightened state of perception. It’s hard to explain.”

  “By the time this happened, you were already in the habit of observing Ken Myers, weren’t you? At least discreetly.”

  “That’s correct. And sometimes not so discreetly.”

  “What do you mean?”

  “I transferred to another school after my first semester, so I knew we would be parting company fairly soon. I was curious about this guy from the start, but after the incident with the bridge collapse, I was beside myself trying to figure ̓em out. I mean, wouldn’t you be curious?”

  “I suppose I would be. What did you do?”

  “I, uh, did something that most people would consider ethically questionable.”

  “What was that?”

  Hearing no response, Agent Colby reassures Phillip.

  “Mr. Garrett, nothing you say here will expose you to any future legal jeopardy. I assure you the FBI is not trying to build a case on something that happened between two college freshmen twenty-six years ago.”

  “One night I told him I would be gone for the night, which was not unusual. I had a friend who had a house off campus. That afternoon when Ken was not there, I placed a hidden camera on the shelf, and recorded over four hours of him sitting alone, as usual.”

  “Was he reading?”

  “He was. What I did was, just to make sure he’d be sitting there, I got a book from the library, not just any book. I got the Yale version of ‘The Complete Works of William Shakespeare’. I don’t know if you’ve ever read Shakespeare in the original but, uh, it’s not what you’d call light reading. The book is nearly fifteen hundred pages long. He read it in less than three hours.”

  “You recorded this?”

  “Yes”

  “Do you still have the recording?”

  “I have both the original DVD and the recording equipment I used. Please take all of it. Your technicians will have an easier time confirming its authenticity.”

  “That would be great if you could do that.”

  Rising, and walking to the hallway closet Mr. Garrett takes a medium-sized cardboard box from the top shelf and hands it to Mr. Colby.

  “Here, take it with you. See what you think it means. I’ve watched it dozens of times. I don’t know what to make of it.”

  “I can assure you I’ll do that.”

  “Mr. Colby, I want to say this. I am not in the habit of recording people without their knowledge. I have never done so before or since.”

  “I believe you.”

  “I wouldn’t have been talking about this at all, but for the fact that this guy is now President of the United States. I feel obligated to tell people about my experience with him. I’m not writing a book, or some tell all exposé. I haven’t been paid a dime to talk about this with anyone. I’ve been on four radio talk shows, and I paid all my own expenses. The local TV station did a story on me about two months ago.”

  “I watched it several times,” Agent Colby says.

  “Basically trying to portray me as a kook. My daughter got teased in school because of it.”

  “I’m sorry to hear that.”

  “Yeah, so was I. She goes to private school now. So you see, Mr. Colby, I’m not making any money off of this. It’s costing me money.”

  “Would you be willing to take a polygraph test about what you’ve told me here today?”

  “Absolutely, provided that the questions are all on the topic we’re now discussing.”

  “You wouldn’t have to answer any question that you regarded as off- topic.”

  “Sure, I have no problem with that.”

  “Well then, let me have a look at what you’ve given me today. Then I’
ll call you, and you can let me know when it would be convenient for you to come in for another interview.”

  “Where would this take place?”

  “Right here in Providence, downtown. It’s, I think, less than six miles from here.”

  “That’s fine. Just let me know.”

  “Mr. Garrett, I want to thank you for your time here today, allowing me to come into your home, and for the material you’ve provided. I can assure you I’ll give it my personal attention.”

  As both men rise, Phillip Garrett feels impelled to restate with emphasis his motivation for what he’s doing.

  “Mr. Colby, I’m doing this because I believe it’s the right thing to do.”

  “I get that general impression Mr. Garrett, but we always have to check things out.”

  “I’m sure of that. Can I expect a telephone call from you?” Phillip asks.

  “Probably tomorrow, so give me ̓till then, and we’ll talk further.”

  “I’ll be home to take your call. You will want to talk further, Mr. Colby, after you see this DVD. Thank you for coming by.”

  “Thanks again for your time, Mr. Garrett.”

  As Phillip watches Agent Colby drive away, he feels himself unexpectedly flushed with a deep sense of relief. At last, he’s now on the record. He has essentially done what he intended to do for years. He has told the unusual story of his experience with Kenneth Myers, and told that story to nothing less than an agent of the Federal Bureau of Investigation. Whatever happens now is the responsibility of others. For Phillip Garrett, it feels as if a burden has been lifted.

  Chapter Four

  Several days later, and far from the quiet suburbs of Providence, Rhode Island, the First Lady is arriving at the elegantly styled apartment of the President’s mother, Kathryn Myers, for lunch. Mrs. Myers is a woman whose reserved and congenial manner has won her the respect of nearly all who know her. A petite, seventy–two-year-old in excellent health, she is personable, and engaging. Having lost her husband when their only child Kenneth was a teenager, she never remarried.

  The rude shock of his father’s death from a car accident left fourteen-year-old Kenneth emotionally staggered for a time. It was at this point in his life that his mother, always a woman of stoic strength, became for him a quiet, constant, reassuring presence. Her dignity and emotional grace through this difficult period would serve as a powerful example of personal integrity for him. Their common sorrow forged between them an enduring bond of mutual respect, and affection. The sizable inheritance left by Ken’s father would assure that both of them would have a secure future.

  Long accustomed to seeing her son in the political spotlight, Kathryn Myers has learned to avoid controversy by maintaining as far as possible, a private life. Notoriously reticent, her steadfast refusal to grant interviews with the media has fostered in some the opinion that she’s aloof, and supercilious, but those who know her, see her as someone who simply refuses to relinquish her personal privacy. Living in the nation’s capital, a place where political gossip is pandemic, Mrs. Myers lives the normal, unassuming life she has always preferred. Though inattentive to most, she’s always delighted to see family, or friends, and is particularly pleased to have Carol as her daughter-in-law. The mutual affection between the two women is genuine. As Mrs. Myers finishes the last few touches to a table set for two, she hears the door bell, and a familiar voice.

  “Hi, Kathryn. How are you?” Carol asks as the two women embrace.

  “I’m fine, Carol. It’s good to see you.”

  “You look great,” Carol adds.

  “Well I try. Come on in. Let’s sit down.”

  “Thanks. Wow, you’re place looks wonderful. I haven’t been here for a while. I’m sorry we’ve been so busy.”

  “Oh, don’t worry about that. I understand what kind of schedule you have.”

  “I’m so glad to see you, Kathryn.”

  “I'm just as happy to see you. Let’s have some coffee.”

  Moments later the two women are seated enjoying their lunch. Their convivial strain of friendly conversation turns to a more serious subject.

  “I saw Dr. Phelps last week,” Carol says.

  “What did he tell you?”

  “That I was healthy. That’s it.”

  “Well, that’s good news.”

  “It is good news,” Carol says.

  “Did he say why you’re having trouble starting a family?”

  “He thinks Ken is under too much stress. He said we need to find time for ourselves, to get away from Washington.”

  “What do you think?”

  “I don’t know. I’m sorry. Maybe I shouldn’t have brought the subject up.”

  “Nonsense, I’m glad to hear you speak about anything that’s bothering you. It shows you have enough trust to confide in me.”

  “Thank you, Kathryn. I do trust you.”

  “I’m grateful to hear that. I think your doctor gave you good advice. What did Ken say about it?”

  “He agreed. So we’re going to take some time off, once the Olympics are over.”

  “That’s good. I think you both need that.”

  “So we’ll be in Miami on the 20th.”

  “Sounds exciting.”

  “You’re welcome to come. We’re not staying any longer than the opening ceremonies,” Carol says.

  “Thank you, Carol. It’s kind of you to ask, but you know I’m a stay at home type.”

  “You like your privacy.”

  “I do. I couldn’t live without it.”

  “I can understand that. Not having a private life takes some getting used to.”

  “I’m sure.”

  “You know it’s true what they say about living in the White House. It really is a fish bowl.”

  “I would think it’s the ultimate fish bowl,” says Kathryn.

  “Well, I better get used to it. It’s a safe bet that Ken’s going to win reelection.”

  “Does he think so?”

  “He never talks about it. He’s trying to get his energy bill passed right now. Tell me something. What’s it like to watch your son being the President of the United States? You must be very proud.”

  “Actually, I don’t think of him in those terms. I still see him as just being my son.”

  “Isn’t that hard to do when you see him on TV so often?”

  “I try to avoid that. I think you can be preoccupied with that kind of thing. It can take over your life.”

  “I think your right. I have to admit, I take it personally when people criticize him.”

  “That’s because you’re a good wife who supports her husband.”

  “He’s the most remarkable person I’ve ever known. It’s such a privilege to be part of his life.”

  “I’m sure he feels the same about you. Would you like some more coffee?”

  “Yes, thank you. By the way, this lunch is delicious.”

  “Thank you. I’m glad you like it.”

  As coffee is poured, Kathryn resolves to tell her daughter-in-law something that no other living person knows other than herself.

  “Carol, you said earlier that you trusted me.”

  “Yes, and I do.”

  “I have something I want to show you.”

  After opening the drawer a few feet away, Kathryn pulls out an unassumingly plain plastic bag, and places it on the table.

  “What’s that?” Carol asks.

  “It’s the nightgown I use to wear when I was pregnant with Ken. I want you to look at it.”

  As Carol holds the garment up to look at it, she notices the neat circular burn mark in the front.

  “What’s this? Looks like it was burned. Was it in a fire?”

  “No, there was no fire. I was wearing that night gown when that happened.”

  “How did it get burned?”

  “It happened forty-six years ago, when we were living in Connecticut. Ken’s father, and I had just moved into our new home. We were so happy. I was eight
months pregnant with Ken. It was July seventeenth, a Saturday night, 2:30 in the morning. I remember as if it was last night. I was sleeping. Something woke me up. There was a light outside the window. Then, I looked straight up, and I could see the sky. I was still in bed, but I could see the night sky. I thought for sure I was dreaming. I looked up, and saw the stars. Then one star got brighter, and closer. All of a sudden a column of light was shining on me, the purest, whitest light I’ve ever seen. That’s what made that mark on my night gown.”

  “Was it painful?”

  “No, just the opposite. I felt an incredible sense of wellbeing. I heard a voice telling me there was nothing to be afraid of. Then I looked at my stomach, and I could actually see my internal organs. I could see all that was happening in my own body.”

  “That’s incredible. Were you afraid?”

  “Not at all. It was both exhilarating and beautiful at the same time. I didn’t want it to end.”

  “What was your husband doing?”

  “Sleeping. There was no noise, and other than the light shining on me, the rest of the room was still dark.”

  “You didn’t wake him?”

  “This is going to sound strange, but I was so absorbed with what I was experiencing, I didn’t want anything to interfere with it.”

  “Did you ever tell him?”

  “I told him everything the next day.”

  “What did he say?”

  “At first, he thought I was dreaming. I showed him the night gown. He had no explanation.”

  “What happened?”

  “Over time, I just stopped thinking about it.”

  “Have you ever told this to Ken?”

  “No, I wanted to, but I never did.”

  “Why not?”

  “I didn’t want to say anything when he was a child because I thought it would confuse him. When he was older, I don’t know. It seemed so incredible that it was just easier to not say anything.”

  “But you chose to tell me.”

  “That’s right. I thought about not telling you, but that wouldn’t be right. Carol, something else happened that night.”

  “What?”

  “When that light, or energy, whatever it was, was shining on me, I don’t think it was interested in me.”