The Placebo Effect Read Free Page A

synagogue that looked like a mosque—covering a portal—adanger—he was out of balance—out of balance—out of balance! He really needed dill pickle chips. Right now—or General Tso’s chicken—or both—yeah, both at once—the chips crushed on top of the chicken. He began to move along Plum Street, to get away from the teenagers, to get away from the yawning portal, from that weird building, from the voices. The voices that kept on shouting, “Give it up. Give it up. This is too big for a fat boy like you. Give it up!” But he couldn’t give it up, couldn’t give up. He owed it to himself and the others like himself that he had betrayed to the Enemy. He’d pretended to be nice, given Mike a job, put him in charge of a lab. And Mike had betrayed his own kind. Been used by the Enemy who he thought was going to be his friend, a real friend who understood how special he was—and now that friend was the Enemy and was going to try and use Decker. He had to warn him. He had to get to the place called the Junction and warn Decker, warn him that the Enemy was getting ready to test then use him—him and his gift—just like he had used Mike.
    â€œYou can’t do this, fatso!” The voice screamed.
    â€œI can,” he said under his breath. Then over and over, “I can, I can, I can.”
    Then he wondered where the airport was. He’d never been on an airplane. He wondered how much it would cost to take an airplane to the Junction—where Decker lived.

4
TEACHER
    DECKER LOOKED AT THE FORTY OR SO ACTORS ASSEMBLED in his studio and decided where to begin. “Evolution is blindly cruel,” he said. “It remorselessly removes the unuseful. Yet it has not done away with actors. Your profession is the second most consumed of all the arts—pop music being number one.
    â€œAnd the iconography of your art form has never changed. Those who have voyaged have earned the right to be up in the light. Those who have yet to voyage sit in the dark.”
    An older actor raised his hand.
    Decker nodded. “Voyaging?”
    â€œYeah, go over that again.”
    â€œSure. The first actor was no doubt some extraordinary woman who stood up by the campfire, and because she had gone to the valley, found something there and brought it back—voyaged—she had the right to speak, to act while the others stayed in the dark and listened. Without voyaging you have no right to stand in the light. You have to chance the danger of going to the valley, then you have to find something there (the fleece is the mythic expression of this), understand what you have found, then bring back your newfound knowledge to the fire. Only then you can stand in the light.”
    Decker thought of his twelve years in New York City, his two Broadway shows—and the ALS death of his wife—as going to the valley and his teaching as standing up by the fire.
    â€œWhat if you’ve never traveled?” Tawtiawna, an incredibly talented light-skinned black actress, asked.
    â€œEmily Dickinson never went anywhere, but she voyaged. TheBrontë sisters never met anyone like Rochester in their lives, but they voyaged, they explored their world both real and imagined, or they couldn’t have found him and brought him back to the fire.”
    Decker smiled then turned to the blond actress in the front row. “Hold out your hand, palm down.” She did as Decker asked, then Decker put his hand out, palm down, six inches from hers and turned to the class. “So two people go to a bar and they flop their hands on the table—about six inches apart—like our two hands. And over the evening they magically join.” Decker moved his hand forward and interlaced his fingers with hers. Her hand was remarkably soft, the fit perfect with his fingers—biology saying yes. For an instant he caught the actress’s eyes looking up into his, as his wife