The holdup is that the county cannot find him a place to go.

Wiggins, 62 and schizophrenic, spent 44 years in state psychiatric hospitals until last spring when, under the aegis of mental health reform, he was released into community-based care.

I've been following his journey for nearly a year and a half now. His progress has brought great hope. But there have been setbacks, too. He is on his fifth community-based social worker already. He seems so mild-mannered, but he's tricky and quick -- and more trouble than most folks getting paid $10 an hour want to mess with.

Last month, he tried to set a fire outside the group home with baking soda, cologne and matches pilfered from another resident's room. That's when the eviction notice came to his sister, Louise Jordan, who lives in Raleigh.

Since then, the county has tried, without success, to find another suitable home for Wiggins. Jordan has visited three possibilities.

One, near Hedingham, left her sobbing. The second, on the south side of Raleigh, was neat enough, but it catered to patients who were high-enough functioning that they could cook for themselves.

The third is very nice, located in a typical North Raleigh neighborhood with a park up the street.

But there, as at the second home, the clients are higher-functioning than Wiggins. Several have jobs at sheltered workshops. A couple have notes from their doctors allowing them to stay in the home for up to three hours without supervision.

These are what the advocates refer to as "cream puffs," residents who need assistance but can manage basic self-care fairly well on their own.

Wiggins is no cream puff.

He will wear the same dirty clothing day after day if allowed.

He needs help with personal hygiene.

His pockets need to be searched every time he enters the house.

And then there is his fascination with fire and chemicals. A few weeks ago, the house attendant in Zebulon discovered that Wiggins had poured sugar and vanilla flavoring into one of his drawers with plans to set the mixture on fire.

Now the county is trying to find a day program that will allow Wiggins to attend, so that a personal social worker can be with him from late afternoon until late evening, after he goes to bed. The county needs to find him another worker for the weekends.

And the group home in Zebulon has had to hire an extra person to be on hand, and awake, during the night.

Wiggins wanders, after all. He goes through other residents' belongings. He stashes items that might be interesting to light on fire.

Essentially, Wiggins needs one-on-one care, 24 hours a day. But the community isn't quite ready to provide it.

So much for the supposed economies of community-based care; so much for market forces providing all the care that's needed for the mentally ill in our state.

Mental health reform sounds so simple; real life is far more complicated.