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  JORDAN QUEST

  JORDAN QUEST SERIES PREQUEL

  _________________

  Gary Winston Brown

  “For those who believe, no proof is necessary.

  For those who don’t believe, no proof is possible.”

  Stuart Chase

  Table of Contents

  Chapter 1: UNRESPONSIVE

  Chapter 2: CONTACT

  Chapter 3: LIFE AFTER DEATH

  Chapter 4: AFTERMATH

  Chapter 5: PROBABLE CAUSE

  Chapter 6: VALIDATION

  Chapter 7: LIFE, THE LAW, FAMILY, FUTURE

  BONUS PREVIEW: BOOK 1, “INTRUDERS.”

  INTRUDERS Chapter 1

  INTRUDERS Chapter 2

  INTRUDERS Chapter 3

  INTRUDERS Chapter 4

  INTRUDERS Chapter 5

  INTRUDERS Chapter 6

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  ABOUT GARY WINSTON BROWN

  ACKNOWLEDGEMENTS

  COPYRIGHT & AUTHOR’S NOTE

  Chapter 1: UNRESPONSIVE

  STRADDLING THE young girl, observing the adolescent’s body for signs of life, Liz Nelson rode the gurney down the hall as her partner rushed them into the hospital and down the corridor to the Emergency Room.

  The medical team met them on the run. Maintaining chest compressions, the paramedic looked up, yelled. “Which one?”

  “ICU One,” the nurse replied. “Trauma team is standing by.”

  The gurney sped around the corner, lurched ahead, tripped a sensor. The double-doors leading into the Intensive Care Unit opened. “First bay on your left,” the nurse called out.

  In the ICU, Dr. Robert Halstead took control of the situation. “Talk to me,” he said.

  Liz continued working on the girl, alternating between mouth-to-mouth rescue breathing and chest pumps, both actions synchronized in controlled intervals. She glanced to her left at the ICU nurse. “Transferring to you on three. Ready?”

  “Ready,” the nurse replied.

  “One… two… three.” Liz leaned back, removed her hands from the girl. Nurse Nancy Levy took over for the paramedic, matching Liz’s pressure and timing, and continued performing CPR on their critically ill patient.

  Liz hopped off the gurney and updated Dr. Halstead. “Housekeeper rescued her from the bottom of a pool. She was unresponsive when we arrived. I lost her twice but got her back. Pulse is weak and thready, but she’s alive.”

  “Barely,” Halstead replied. He moved his stethoscope over her body, listening to her heart and pulmonary function. “How long was she underwater?”

  “Thirty minutes,” Neilson said.

  Halstead turned to the paramedic. “Thirty minutes on the bottom?”

  Liz nodded. “Approximately.”

  “Jesus,” Halstead replied. “Add another thirty for on-scene treatment and transport. She’s been near death for an hour.” The doctor instructed his team. “Get her on one-hundred percent oxygen and monitor pulse oximetry.” He double-checked her airway for foreign matter and vomit, found none. “Airway’s clear. Ventilate her and run an ECG. I want to know her cardiac status.” To Liz, Halstead asked, “What was the water temperature?”

  “Cold,” Liz answered.

  “A cold pool in Los Angeles?” Halstead replied. “That’s a first.”

  “The housekeeper said the grounds maintenance company knocked a gallon of insecticide into the pool yesterday. They drained and replaced the water last night, so it was still pretty cold. She said the girl is an expert swimmer. Which is why she never thought it necessary to check on her.”

  Halstead palpated his patient’s head, felt a large bump. “The pool has a diving board?”

  “It does,” Liz answered.

  “Look.” The doctor pointed out the contusion. “My guess is she slipped on the board, fell back and struck her head. The impact knocked her out. She sunk to the bottom. What’s ironic is that changing the water in the pool might just have saved her life.”

  “How’s that?” Liz asked.

  “The cold water lowered her body temperature, which resulted in her metabolic activity slowing down,” Halstead explained. “That made her brain able to handle such a long period of oxygen deprivation. Think of it as driving a car as slow as possible on cruise control. The car is able to operate, but it’s not functioning anywhere near its optimum capacity.”

  Liz stared at the girl as the nursing staff wrapped her body in warm blankets to slowly raise her body temperature. “Think she’ll make it?”

  Halstead shrugged. “That’s between her and God.”

  “Even if she does, the odds aren’t good she’ll avoid sustaining brain damage,” Liz said. “Poor kid was deprived of oxygen for a very long time.”

  Halstead agreed. “She needs to be put into a coma,” he said. “That will lower her requirement for oxygen, manage cranial pressure and reduce the metabolic demands on her heart and brain. We’ll also be in a better position to control her pain and keep any seizures in check.” Halstead looked toward the exit doors. “Is the family outside?”

  “Just the housekeeper. She rode in with us. She’s waiting in the lobby. The girl’s mother and father are both out of town on business.”

  “I need to speak with her right away.”

  “I’ll get her,” Liz answered. She left the ICU in search of the housekeeper.

  Dr. Halstead scribbled a note on his patient’s chart. Only then did he realize that in the melee to save her life he had forgotten to learn her name - Jordan. He put his hand on her shoulder. “Come on, Jordan,” he said. “You and I are going to have to work overtime if we’re going to bring you back. Deal?”

  Intubated, Jordan offered no response.

  The mechanical ventilator hissed, breathed for her.

  Chapter 2: CONTACT

  DR. HALSTEAD’S voice reverberated off the walls of the Intensive Care Unit and seemed to surround her.

  Bring… bring… you… you… back… back… deal… deal… deal?

  Detached from her physical body, Jordan looked down. She observed herself on the gurney and heard the muted conversations of the nursing staff as they commented on what a shame it was that such a beautiful young girl should be forced to stare into the face of death at the tender age of twelve.

  But Jordan soon found she was not alone. Orbs of energy-charged light surrounded her. Strange illuminations whirled about the room. A distinct vibration emanated from each brilliant wisp of light which Jordan soon understood to be a desire to communicate with her. Unafraid, confident they meant her no harm, that she was not in any danger, Jordan let herself go. She opened herself up to the visitors. The invitation accepted, the vibrations morphed into sound. Sound soon became words, words formed into messages, and the dazzling light into ethereal human form.

  The entity reached out to her.

  The connection became stronger, the atmosphere in the room charged, as though her body floated in a field of static electricity. In this state of suspended animation, separated from her failing physical body, Jordan could reach out her hand. The entity moved closer. There was no need for communication. The being delivered its message to her in the form of a sudden stream of consciousness, as though a movie played on the screen of her mind; a vignette of scenes, layered together. Jordan didn’t know how to respond to the message being imparted to her by the entity. She let go, went deeper than before, and surrendered herself to the connection.

  It shared
its story with Jordan.

  In life, her name was Marjorie Ecclestone. She had been thirty-two years old at the time of her brutal murder in 1982 while working as a maid in the prestigious Chadwick Hotel on 48th Street in New York City. Marjorie had moved to the Big Apple with the hope of establishing herself as a Broadway actress. Never late for work, she often finished her cleaning duties early. At 11:30 A.M. it was mentioned to the duty manager that several rooms on the floor Marjorie had been assigned to clean had not yet been made. Shortly thereafter, Marjorie’s overturned cleaning cart was found by a guest in the fourth-floor stairwell. Police were called at once and an extensive investigation into Marjorie’s strange disappearance undertaken. Every hotel suite and service area were searched. Having found no sign of Marjorie, authorities expanded their investigation east to Broadway, west to 8th Street, north to West 50th Street, and south to West 46th Street. Marjorie’s body was later found in an abandoned office building on West 45th Street. She had been raped and murdered, her body wrapped head to toe in plastic pallet wrap. No usable evidence was found on the body or at the scene.

  Before its departure, the entity that was Marjorie Ecclestone left Jordan with two words: Alphonse Mercado.

  Jordan knew what she had to do.

  Her eyes opened. Her body seized on the bed.

  Dr. Halstead called for help.

  Chapter 3: LIFE AFTER DEATH

  NOW STABLE and three days free of the ICU, Jordan woke in her hospital bed.

  She contemplated the strange visitation she had received from Marjorie Ecclestone. Had she really experienced the event? Perhaps in her oxygen-depleted state some physiological switch had been tripped to prevent neurological failure. Had her mind manifested the apparition in order to keep her faculties engaged and stop her brain from shutting down altogether?

  No, it had to be true. The visitation, dream, apparition, hallucination, whatever it was, had been all too real. Jordan had a vivid imagination, but even on her best day she was incapable of dreaming in such detail and with such specific recollection. As Marjorie Ecclestone led her down the hallway to the stairwell and through the doors to the overturned supply cart, Jordan took in every detail about the hotel. She noted its stain-glass Tiffany wall sconces, rich alabaster moldings, and the intricate floral pattern stitched into the fine silk Persian carpet on which they had walked. She also recalled the name Marjorie had gone to great lengths to impart to her: Alphonse Mercado.

  Her parents flew home the moment they learned the news of their only child’s near-fatal drowning. Her mother and father, Mary and Michael, sat at her bedside. Beside them sat Marissa DeSola, the family’s housekeeper; the woman responsible for saving her life.

  “Hi, Shortcake,” her father said. He leaned across the bed, held his daughter’s hand. “How’s my girl doing?”

  “Waterlogged,” Jordan replied. “Other than that, good.”

  Michael smiled. “Dr. Halstead says you’re in the clear now. You can come home anytime.”

  Jordan looked around the room, opened her arms, and teased her father. “What? And leave all this behind?”

  Her mother laughed. “I’m sure you’ll be more comfortable back at the estate.”

  Dr. Halstead entered the room in time to catch Jordan’s exaggerated performance. “I have to agree with your mom. Although we do our best to make our patients happy we are unable to offer five-star accommodation. I hope you understand.”

  “You have a point, Dr. H,” Jordan replied. “Your meal plan could use a little attention. Last night’s chicken was overcooked,” she teased. “Not that I’m complaining.”

  Halstead winked. “You actually ate the chicken? Brave girl.”

  Jordan laughed. “So, it’s true?” she asked. “I can bounce out of here?”

  “You sure can. Just make me one small promise.”

  “What’s that?”

  “Stay away from diving boards for a while. At least until that goose egg on the back of your noggin has had proper time to heal.”

  “You got it.”

  “Good!” Dr. Halstead said. “That being said you are no longer my prisoner. You’re free to go.” The doctor shook her hand. “You’re a very lucky young lady, Jordan. Considering your accident, most people wouldn’t be fortunate enough to get the second chance at life you have been given. Use it well.”

  Jordan nodded. “I will.”

  Halstead turned to leave.

  “Doc?” Jordan said.

  “Yes, Jordan?”

  “Thank you for saving my life.”

  Halstead smiled. “As much as I’d like to take the credit, the person you need to thank is sitting right beside you.” The doctor pointed to Marissa DeSola. “If Marissa didn’t pull you out of the water when she did your story would not have had a happy ending. She’s the one who deserves your admiration and gratitude, not me.”

  Jordan smiled at Marissa. “She’s the best.”

  Mary put her arm around Marissa, pulled her close. “We owe you everything, Marissa,” she said. “This is a debt we can never repay.”

  Marissa held back her tears. “That Jordan is alive and well is repayment enough.”

  Dr. Halstead took his leave.

  “All right,” Michael said. “Let’s get you packed up and out of here.”

  “Sounds like a plan,” Jordan agreed.

  A twinkle of light appeared in the corner of the room, a kaleidoscope of glittering color which grew brighter by the second. Jordan recognized the sign of the coming visitation. But this time she was not asleep. She was fully awake and aware of the miracle that was taking place right before her eyes.

  Marissa noticed the distracted expression on Jordan’s face. She followed her gaze to the corner of the room, saw nothing. “Is everything okay, Jordan?” she asked.

  “You don’t see it?” Jordan asked.

  “See what, honey?” her mother asked.

  The woman moved to the foot of Jordan’s bed. She was Asian, in her mid-twenties, dressed in a white silk blouse and blue jeans. Her shiny black hair fell over her shoulders. She was beautiful, except for the three slash marks across her throat.

  “Nothing,” Jordan replied. “It’s nothing.”

  Chapter 4: AFTERMATH

  JORDAN LISTENED as the energy form that was Zhi Huang shared the story of her murder and described how the wife of a client had set up her husband to take the fall for Zhi’s death. Zhi had been a high-priced escort. Her client, Ryan Braxton, was a successful attorney; his wife, Madelaine, a professor of economics at the University of Chicago. Suspecting she had learned of her husband’s infidelity and sought revenge, Madelaine had been questioned by authorities but was soon cleared of any involvement in Zhi’s death due to her airtight alibi. She had been teaching an economics class at the time of the murder. But what police didn’t know was that Madelaine was engaged in an affair of her own. Her lover, a graduate student by the name of Zachary Forsythe, was naïve enough to believe her when she told him the only obstacle standing in the way of their being together was Ryan. Madelaine told Zachary she had learned about her husband’s relationship with the beautiful young escort and had come to know the exact date, place and time of their weekly rendezvous. Paranoid about his personal safety after being mugged two years earlier, Ryan Braxton had vowed never again to find himself unarmed in the face of danger. Opposed to guns, he carried a switchblade in his pocket wherever he went. Madelaine laid out her plan of revenge to Zachary, which he dutifully executed. While walking to meet his mistress, Zachary ‘accidentally’ bumped into Ryan Braxton outside their designated hotel and pickpocketed the blade. Two hours later, after they had left the hotel, Zachary followed Zhi into the underground parking lot and slashed her throat. Ryan’s switchblade, chock full of his DNA as well as particles of lint which forensic investigators later matched to those found in the pocket of the jacket he was wearing at the time of his questioning by police, was discovered at the bottom of a trashc
an located at the entrance to the Slate Street subway station. Area surveillance cameras captured Braxton pausing beside the waste receptacle before descending the stairs to the subway platform. Both judge and jury interpreted the movement of Ryan’s hand into and out of his coat pocket to be the discarding of the murder weapon. In fact, it was Zachary Forsythe who had disposed of the blade, which had been carefully wrapped in a cotton handkerchief embroidered with the initials ‘RB’ and given to him by Madelaine for that specific purpose. Considering the overwhelming evidence against him, Ryan Braxton was sentenced to life in prison for Zhi Huang’s murder. Zachary Forsythe was found dead in his basement apartment hours after the escorts body was discovered. He had been the victim of a self-inflicted gunshot wound. Though the cause of his death had been attributed to suicide no note confirming such intention was found at the scene.

  Zhi’s energy pleaded for Jordan’s help to bring Zachary’s puppet-master and the true orchestrator of her murder, Madelaine Braxton, to justice.

  A second entity appeared behind Zhi Huang.

  It identified itself as Zachary Forsythe.

  In the weeks that followed, Jordan’s visitations increased with greater frequency. She became intrigued with her newfound psychic ability, and her connection to the other side no longer frightened her. She learned how to manage the mental, emotional and physiological demands that The Gift -as she now referred to it- placed upon her. She was now in control. From the first visitation she started a journal in which she recorded the stories each of the entities shared with her in meticulous detail.

  After two months, Jordan finally decided to tell her parents about the incredible change that had occurred to her following her near-death experience. She requested a family meeting. She needed guidance; what to do next, how she should use her gift, and how best to handle the attention that would come when her secret inevitably went public.