Sleeper Seven by Mark Howard Read Free Book Online

is obviously mental distress involved. Her experiences were somewhat distressing in parts, but not overwhelming — in general it was a positive feeling. Second, people with this disorder reported seeing the world through a thick haze, or gauze, or cloudiness. She, on the other hand, could perceive clearly, as if it were even
more
real than reality. And finally, one common — and strange — symptom was a powerful aversion to fluorescent lighting; and once again, she had none of this, in the body or out — and the hospital had been full of them.
    Unsatisfied, she thought of Gavin and Googled
astral travel
. Scrolling through the Wikipedia entry, she pored over a vast history of similar experiences described throughout most religions, until a modern sounding name finally caught her eye: Raymond Adams. From this link, she learned he was a pioneer of this practice back in the seventies, who had, in fact, funded and developed a center to promote the study of the experience, which continued to thrive — decades after his passing.
    Reading through the materials and testimonials, she was surprised that there were people who were willing to pay thousands of dollars for "retreats" in order to learn how to do what she had accidentally stumbled onto. A few clicks later and she was sending a book to her Kindle — Adams' seminal classic
Adventures in the Astral Body
.
    By the end of the workday, she had read through a quarter of the book, and was captivated by his experiences, which she found eerily similar to her own. What was strikingly different, however, was that his travels rarely resulted in any verifiable evidence, and it seemed his senses were somewhat dulled, while hers remained perfectly intact. Apparently, she was an accidental astral-traveling pro. Halfway through the book, in the cab ride home, Jess knew she wasn't going back to work the next day. She was going to the Adams Center.

~ 13 ~
    C iting ongoing mental health issues related to the accident — true, to a certain extent — Jess took a leave of absence from work the next morning. Minutes after the confirmation email from Human Resources, she booked a nine-fifty A.M. flight to Asheville, North Carolina, the closest airport to the Adams Center. After hastily stuffing some clothes into a duffel bag, she headed down to tell Gavin. Predictably, he was fully supportive of what he called her "Journey" or "Vision Quest" or somesuch, but most importantly, he agreed to continue taking care of her cat while she was away.
    In the taxi, she reflected on how she had never acted so impulsively before; she didn't even call the Adams Center to let them know she was coming, much less book the $1,800 retreat package. Somehow, she knew that her job was just to get there, and the rest of the pieces would fall into place.
    Her flight arrived at eleven-twenty, and by noon she was barreling eastward down I-40 in a rented Kia, heading out of Asheville and towards Black Mountain. Twenty minutes later, her iPhone, guiding her on the dash, led her off the highway and onto a twisty two-lane road deep into the heart of the Blue Ridge mountains. Sunlight filtered through the leaves, sprinkling over the car as she sped around the curves, and darkening only as she passed under the occasional patch of wild kudzu that blanketed the trees hanging over the road.
    Twenty minutes into the twisties, a gnawing feeling took hold in her stomach. Unable to entertain the idea that she was having doubts about this whole adventure, she convinced herself it was her lack of lunch, combined with the numerous switchbacks. A minute later, she emerged from the mountains, coasting downhill into an open valley as the road untangled itself. She caught a glimmer of a lonely, rusted sign as it flew by on her right:
This way to the Runaway Cafe (2mi)
.
    Fortunate to have a distraction from the nagging impulse to turn the car around, she spotted the roadhouse set upon a natural ledge embedded into the hillside up ahead.