Crazy in Love {A Short Story}

I dealt with only one patient on a regular basis when I worked in Wisconsin. You'd think I would've had more, seeing as I had a private practice of my own in a town that had no other such office, but I didn't. I'd left the big city because, well, because of what happened to my last patient I had there. He suffered from severe depression and just spiraled deeper and deeper into the void that was his mind and came up with the notion that it was a sign from On High. God wanted him to suffer. I tried to convince him otherwise, but he was too far gone. One night he left a note saying he couldn't take it anymore and disappeared, never to be seen again. His friends and family blamed me, but there was no way to place a malpractice on me, so I kept my position, but I hardly ever got patients. 1

Having one regular patient was better than having none, I agree, but that didn't really pay the bills. I guess moving my psychiatric practice to my Wisconsin hometown wasn't too smart of a move. But, if I hadn't had made that move back home I would have never met Moira, that one patient of mine I saw regularly.2

She was a paranoid schizophrenic. Paranoid Schizophrenics may hear voices that tell them to harm themselves or others, and have hallucinations or delusions. There are other symptoms, but it really depends on the individual. In her case, she believed herself to be hunted by an obscure foreign intelligence agency that wanted secret information that our government supposedly put into her head somehow. Voices, she claimed, whispered to her, telling her that “they” were going to get her while she slept. Sedatives took care of the resulting insomnia. 3

I was at my desk when the phone rang with the call that would change everything. I reached out and picked it up, the cheap plastic of it cold to the touch as I brought the receiver to my expectant ear. 4

“This is Dr. Castor Simmons. How may I help you?” I tried to inject some enthusiasm into my voice, but I knew I failed miserably. I sounded bored even to myself. I hadn't been getting many cases of depression, like I usually did, so Moira at the time was my only priority and source of income. There was a moment's pause on the other end. I could hear the slight inhale and exhale of whoever it was. I was about to say something to them when a familiar voice spoke.5

“Uh, Castor? It's Renae. Moira's sister? She's in a bad spot and keeps muttering your name, saying, 'He'll make them go away. Castor will come and make things safe. He has to!' over and over again. I'm worried about her, Castor. Her paranoia is getting worse. She mutters practically all the time now. I went to help her a little bit ago, doing the things you told me to do, and she screamed in my face, telling me that I was probably with 'them'. I don't know what to do! I'm afraid she'll hurt herself, or me.” Renae sounded scared, and I knew her fear wasn't misplaced.6

Moira had had a violent reaction the week before to Renae's boyfriend, Sam, who had come over to watch a movie with them for the first time since Moira's symptoms became more pronounced. Moira had regarded him suspiciously and wouldn't talk to him when he walked in. Still, he smiled and tried to hug her like he had before everything got worse. She had attacked him, punching him and yelling at him to leave the house. He could be with “them” and she was not going to let him take her away. Needless to say, Sam hadn't gone back since then. 7

“I'll be right over, Renae. Just sit tight and make sure Moira does the same,” I said to her, already getting up and heading for the front of my house. “I'm on my way now. I'll see you soon,” I assured her, snagging my keys from the wobbly oak peg and smoothly hanging up the phone on the way out my front door. I made sure it was closed, but didn't bother to lock it since everyone knew everybody in the town and we all trusted each other. 8

I remember when she first came to me about just mild paranoia. She was pleasant about the whole thing, actually. I have to smile when I think about our first session, because the way she regarded her own feelings was something that I didn't expect.9

“I feel like I am being followed all the time. Like, the man walking behind me in the store is stalking me. I'm crazy aren't I? Like those asylum people? I guess that's alright. Will I have to go there and wear those hideous gowns? Is the food good?” She'd said thoughtfully, not really perturbed at all about the possibility that she had a mental problem. After several sessions and finding out that she started hearing voices in her mind, taking to her, I knew what she had. I blatantly told her, right out, in as nice a voice as I could, that I was positive she was paranoid schizophrenic. Her reply?10

“Really? So I am crazy. Well, that clears a lot of things up!” Moira had then laughed her tinkling childhood innocence, staring at me with her intense, humor-filled eyes. Her response floored me. She hadn't denied it or tried to tell me I was the one with the problem like, well, most of my previous patients had when I diagnosed them. Moira just accepted it on the spot and was very much at ease when I talked with her about what we would do to help her with her paranoia. She was a very pleasant and alluring person. 11

Moira had been a great person to talk to during our sessions together. We had laughed and joked before getting down to business. The sessions were almost like spending time with a friend and it eventually turned out that way. When I saw her out and about the town, a smile would spread across my face and her returned smile filled me with such joy. I started to become extremely worried whenever I had to go to her house and treat her, thinking that at any time she could take her own life in an effort to “free” herself from the constant paranoia. I didn't want anything to happen to Moira. Moira with her staring green eyes and choppy black hair, childlike laughter and the look she gave me when I talked her through her bad times, regarding me as her savior and protector. Thinking back on how I felt about her, I should have distanced myself emotionally from her more. 12

Once I realized I was more her friend than psychiatrist, I began regarding her in my mind as just another crazy, someone to be avoided and dealt with at arm's length. Something small in me cringed when I thought that, but I came to ignore it. You see, I never thought I would have even the smallest personal connection with any of my patients. Strangely, I hadn't until I met Moira. I thought that thought process would be enough.13

Moira had changed me somehow, with her childish trusting of me and her neediness for my help. I seemed to be more caring, becoming her friend. In actuality, the whole “connect with them on a personal level” deal was something I was supposed to have been doing before then, but I never seemed to be able to do that. It didn't make my job any more difficult, but it would have made things easier, I'm sure.14

I got in and started my car, carefully backing out, and sped my way to Moira and Renae's house. I couldn't help but be irritated at Renae. I had told her again and again how to deal with Moira, even when she asked or muttered for me. What I hadn't told her was that I was telling her to do that mainly for my benefit. I'd decided to move. I'd already contacted a good friend of mine, who was also a psychologist, and he said he'd take over Moira's sessions for me. He'd come down every Tuesday, Thursday, and Saturday.15

It was less than Moira was used to, but wasn't able to come down any more time than that. It would have only been two days, but I reminded of the favor he owed me. I had clenched my hands on the steering wheel as I made the turn into the neighborhood that Moira and her sister lived in, Trailblazer Heights. My buddy had laughed when I called on the favor.16

“You want to use that favor on a patient? A schizoid, you say? Boy, that's not the old Cast who I went to school with. You'd always just gave the minimum help and nothing more. In it for the money,” He'd laughed again and told me when he'd be able to come down. I had thanked him tersely and hung up. 17

Their two story white number with colonial columns decorating the front came into view, and I pulled into the black asphalt driveway and wasted no time in letting myself into the house. It was still and quiet inside, save for the mechanical whirr of the fans struggling to circulate the air. All the curtains were drawn, which I realized as a sign of Moira's increasing paranoia. The house was stuffy and hot, causing sweat to trickle down my back as I stood there, debating whether to call for Renae or go directly to Moira. 18

Renae had just graduated from college, and had planned to move to New York t try to get a job as a fashion designer. Having graduated with honors and everything, I was sure she would have succeeded, if it weren't for her sister. Moira's schizophrenia had escalated and she required constant attention. Renae dutifully took on the role. 19

Suddenly, a shrill scream slashed through the air, making the decision for me.20

“Moira, no!” It was Renae! I raced up the creaking wooden stairs two at a time, my heart racing in my chest. I could hear sounds of a struggle accentuated by the sounds of furniture being knocked over and the grunts of both women. Panic bubbled up within me and I tried to go faster up the stairs, almost falling as a result.21

“Moira please!” A wordless scream that time. I recognized it as Moira's, having heard it before during another one of her previous outbreaks of extreme paranoia..22

“You're with them! My own sister! What have you told them?! What have you told them?!” Moira's voice was high, panicked and severe. I tripped over the faded green rug placed in front of Moira's door and managed to right myself before catching the edges of the open doorway. I took in the scene all at once.23

Moira was on top of Renae, a knife in her hand. Her upraised arm trembled as she tried to plunge the knife down into her sister's chest. Renae was just barely holding the arm away from her, eying the knife with terror flooding her face. Moira's back was to me, so she didn't see me lunge at her, wrapping my arm about her waist. I yanked her off Renae and tried to restrain her.24

“She's with them! She's with them!” Moira struggled fiercely, trying to break free of my hold.25

“Moira! Moira, honey! Stop it!” Moira didn't seem to hear me, she only felt an attacker. I wrapped my other arm around her and hugged her to my chest, trying to pin her arms. The knife raked against one of my arms as she thrashed harder against my hold, trying to break free in any way she could. A thin line of red appeared where she cut me and blood tickled from the wound to run down my arm. I hissed in pain and tried to get the knife away from her. Renae had scuttled out of the room, terrified. 26

“Get her sedatives!” I called to her, hoping she heard me. I couldn't let Moira hurt herself. I knew that if she couldn't break free, she would turn the knife to herself to keep the “information” she believed to be in her head safe from whomever she thought I was with. My heart had clenched in fear and despair when I thought of her beautiful eyes dimmed forever, staring at nothing, her blood pooling around her pale frame. 27

“Let go of me! I won't go with you! You can't have the information!” She shrieked, trying to slice me again. I was ready that time, and I caught her wrist with my other hand, twisting it until she let go of the knife with a strangled cry. The knife flashed as it spun from her hand to clatter onto the floor and slide, thankfully, under her four-poster bed. 28

As soon as the knife left her hand, Moira went limp, starting to cry. Seeing her like that had cut me in way the knife had not. It was a much deeper wound, directly at the center of my being. Carefully, I let go of her as Renae came running into the room with a packaged syringe. She also had things to bandage my arm with. I smile gratefully at her. The wound was still seeping blood, and it had begun to sting. I grimaced.29

“Why are you doing this? Why me?” Moira collapsed to her knees on the ground, sobbing into her hands, her black hair hiding her face. She still hadn't looked my way, so she didn't know I was the one who had restrained her just moments before. I grabbed the syringe from Renae and knelt down by Moira, rubbing her back as I leaned down to speak in her ear. Renae knelt by us and began cleaning and bandaging my arm for me while I talked to Moira.30

“Moira, honey? It's me, Castor. They're gone, I made them leave. You're safe now. May I make you feel better?” I sighed in relief when she nodded her head, her crying turned to sniffling. Moira lifted her face from her hands and looked gratefully at me with those trusting green eyes. Enamored, I could only stare as she suddenly hugged me, burying her face in my chest. I placed the syringe carefully next to me and wrapped both my arms around her. Renae moved away when Moira hugged me, her bandaging of my wound completed.31

Holding Moira in my arms, I laid my chin on top of her head and sighed. I just held her, lending her the security she wanted and needed. After a few moments I reluctantly unwrapped the syringe and cleaned a spot on Moira's arm with the disinfectant pad that came with it.. She didn't even flinch when I injected her. She needed to sleep. Renae took the wrapping and empty syringe while I carefully brought Moira into my arms. She clung to me like a child as I carried her to her bed. Renae came back into the room as I finished tucking in the lucid Moira.32

“I'll sit here with her, you go get some rest, Renae,” I whispered, smiling gently at her, knowing she was distraught over what had happened earlier. Nodding gratefully, she left the room, closing the door silently behind her. I sat in the faded green chair next to the bed and just gazed at Moira. Her pale face was turned to me while she slept. 33

She's beautiful. That thought came unbidden to my mind and made me realize and accept something about myself that I had been denying for so long. I had all the symptoms and had ignored my own diagnosis. I smiled and reached out to hold Moira's small hand in my own, careful not to wake her. With my other hand, I pulled my phone from my pocket and dialed. 34

“Hey Cast! What's shakin'?” My friend asked. I just smiled into the phone, softly stroking Moira's hand with my thumb. 35

“About you coming and taking over Moira's treatment? I think I'm going to stay after all......”36


During the following weeks, I felt myself becoming closer and closer to Moira, wanting to go above and beyond in my caring of her. I kept forgetting about my other appointments and checked in on her at home at least twice a day to assure myself that she was indeed okay. Her symptoms never lessened, but they had stopped getting worse. In my mind, I liked to think that it was because of me being around her all the time she was doing better. 37

Renae began to notice how much time I spent with Moira and how I acted around her. She confronted me and demanded that I explain to her my closeness with her sister.38

“You seem to becoming a bit closer to Moira, Carter. In my opinion, I think it's a bit too close,” she'd said, putting her hands on her hips. She'd come to get Moira after our session that day, which had ran a bit longer than intended. 39

“She's my patient, Renae. She's also a sister of a friend. Your sister,” I'd replied, trying to look her in the eyes confidently. I'd failed and looked away.40

“I don't think you should be getting this involved, Carter. She's your patient! Isn't there some sort of rule that says you can't? God, Carter! The way you look at her sometimes, as if she's your woman! That's sick!” Renae had insisted, anger clouding her face. 41

“There is nothing that can keep me from being friends with her, Renae! I'm trying to help her, for Christ's sake!” I'd fumed, glaring at her. I knew I was only telling part of the truth. My liking of Moira was becoming an infatuation, but I could do nothing. I touched her hands and skin when I could, often touching her for longer than necessary, like after I injected her with her sedatives when she needed them. Being forced from her was not an option.42

After that, Renae began watching me like a hawk, and eventually reported me to the Wisconsin Medical Board. A sort of investigation ensued, and my license to treat was revoked. Devastated, I watched as I was forbidden to treat Moira. How would I see her again?43


Right now, Moira sits next to me on the couch, her hand lightly resting on top of my arm. She doesn't smile anymore and she trembles at the slightest of noises. Her condition has gotten worse. I try to comfort her, but she just stares blankly at me, hardly any recognition in her eyes. She just tolerates me, and that rips at my heart. 44

Renae, fed up with Moira, left for New York a few months ago to pursue her fashion career. No one wanted to take care of Moira, so she would have been institutionalized if I had not requested to take her on. Before her condition started to decline once more, Moira said that she was fine with living with me, so here we are. We live in my house, in the same Wisconsin town, struggling to keep things together. I have no job, and she can't get one because of her mental illness. I was raised to believe that love conquers all, that love can make people closer. Looking at Moira's blank face as she shivers and shakes, listening warily to the psychiatrist sitting across from us, I'm not so sure that's true.45