Reflex by Steven Gould

they try to treat it, the dyskinesia?"
    "They wanted to up my dosage of Haldol."
    Millie shuddered. Taking more of a neuroleptic drug would probably stop the symptoms temporarily—until they returned even worse.
    Sojee saw Millie shake. "Oh. Do you have TD, too?"
    "No. Has going off of your meds caused your, uh, symptoms to increase?"
    Sojee smacked her lips several times in succession and then her lower jaw jerked to the right. "Do you mean: am I crazy again? They come and they go."
    Despite herself, Millie had to smile. "You don't mince words, do you, Sojee? What do you mean by 'they?' "
    "Angels. Angels and demons. I hear them both. And sometimes I see them."
    Millie nodded. "What do they want you to do?"
    "The usual. The angels tell me I'm the chosen one. I'm their human champion in the angel/demon war here on Earth. The demons talk about my ex-husband and tell me to kill myself. I hear them all the time really, but there are days where I believe them."
    Millie couldn't help herself. "And today?"
    "Oh, this is a good day. They're just chattering at the back of the bus. I'm not letting them drive."
    It was surreal, this discussion of mental illness, yet also liberating. Here was a person whose personal travails far eclipsed Millie's. One way or another, Millie would get past this crisis. Barring a miracle, Sojee would be stuck with schizophrenia and tardive dyskinesia as long as she lived.
    Millie sighed and showed Sojee the picture. "I don't suppose you've seen—" She was expecting another negative, but she couldn't help holding onto a faint hope—a hope driven by the homeless men's assertion that "Retarded Kaneesha saw everything." What she wasn't expecting was for Sojee's eyes to roll back in her head and her knees to buckle.
    Millie swore and lunged forward, dropping the stack of flyers and the stapler as she tried to break Sojee's fall. The woman was both taller and heavier than Millie, but Millie just managed to keep her head from hitting the asphalt.
    What on earth caused that? She stared down at the woman's face, which was suddenly different. The tardive dyskinesia had ceased with unconsciousness, and, relaxed, her face went from some caricature of madness to normalcy. She's beautiful. Millie wanted to weep, suddenly.
    Millie snagged a discarded cardboard box from beside the recycling bin and dropped her knee on it, bursting it, then folding it one-handed. She slid it under Sojee's head.
    The woman was stirring already. Her eyelids fluttered and she was moaning slightly. There were a hundred different possible causes for Sojee's blackout but Millie swore it looked like an old-fashioned faint.
    Was it Davy's picture? What had this woman seen?
    She heard steps behind her and turned her head. The two homeless men from across the street, the recycler and the man with the dog, had crossed the street.
    "Jesus, lady! What did you do to her?"
    "She fainted."
    The rain was worsening, falling on Sojee's face. Millie shook her head. "Go flag down a cab. I need to get her some help."
    They stared at her like she was from another planet.
    "Well, can you? She lies here much longer, she'll get soaked!"
    The recycler said, "Lady, cabs don't stop for people like us."
    Millie blinked. "Right, then. You guys bring her. I'll get the cab." She snagged the stapler off the ground and put it in her pocket. She ignored the flyers—half of them were soaked and the others would be soon. It didn't matter. The original was back at Kinko's and she could have more made.
    It took her ten minutes to find a cab. The rain was getting worse and the cabs were in demand. When she got it back to the alley, the two homeless men were helping Sojee stand.
    When the woman saw Millie, though, she flinched and tried to pull away, nearly falling in the process. "Stay away from me!" Her facial motions were back, tongue thrusts and the prolonged blinks.
    Millie spread her hands and tried to look as harmless as possible. "You need help, Sojee. You passed out.