HE TAKES FATAL OD AS INTERNET PALS WATCH

Chatroom Vultures Egged Him to Pop More Rx Pills

Brandon Vedas "I told u I was hardcore."

Those were the last coherent words Brandon Vedas, 21, typed into the
computer in his Phoenix bedroom as he showed off for Internet pals
watching on a Web cam by swallowing more and more prescription drugs.

Vedas died online as a crowd of virtual onlookers egged him to "eat
more!" A chilling record of the Jan. 12 chat reads like an Internet
version of the notorious 1964 Kew Gardens, Queens, stabbing of Kitty
Genovese as her neighbors watched from their windows.

In Vedas' case, some did try to help - begging him to stop, to call
911, to get his mother from the next room. After he passed out, some
tried frantically to figure out his location while others argued
against getting involved.

But the technology that brought as many as a dozen chatters into the
intimacy of Vedas' bedroom was unable to tell them where he was.
Internet Relay Chat is anonymous, and no one in the drug users' chat
group knew the last name of the young man who called himself Ripper.

Vedas was a casualty of a new epidemic: a surge in the recreational
use of pharmaceuticals, even as the rate of illegal drug use holds
steady or declines. The most recent survey by the federal Substance
Abuse and Mental Health Services Administration says 11.1 million
people used prescription drugs for fun in 2000, nearly half of whom
were under 25.

In New York City, the number of people showing up in emergency rooms
after taking too many legal narcotics jumped 47.6% from 2000 to 2001,
the most recent year for which numbers are available.

"In 2001, for the first time, we had more emergency room mentions of
prescription narcotic analgesics nationally than for heroin," said Dr.
Westley Clark, director of the administration's Center for Substance
Abuse Treatment.

In Internet discussion groups, users trade tips on how to fake
symptoms to con a doctor into prescribing pain relievers,
tranquilizers, stimulants and sedatives.

By his own account, bragging in the hour before he died, Vedas
ingested large doses of Klonopin, Methadone, Restoril and Inderal,
along with marijuana and 151-proof rum. All but the pot and the rum
apparently were legally prescribed for him by a doctor and a
psychiatric nurse, according to his angry and mystified family.

"It's the ideal situation - it's legal and it's free," said Vedas'
brother Rich. "And most people assume that if a doctor is giving you
something, it must be fine."

Vedas, who worked in computer support at the University of Phoenix,
knew a lot about the dangers of mixing drugs. But he also bragged
delusionally about his "high tolerance." His mother knew he had been
prescribed pills for depression - but no one in the family knew he was
mixing his medicine for fun, his brother said.

On the night of Jan. 12, Vedas urged chat pals to log onto his Web
site and watch him go through his stash. "Bottoms up, fellas!" he crowed.

"Don't OD on us, Ripper," said one of the onlookers watching Vedas
swallow pill after pill.

"That's not much," said a teenager from rural Oklahoma who calls
himself Smoke2K. "Eat more. I wanna see if you survive or if you just
black out."

In the macho atmosphere of the druggie chat room, Vedas seemed to have
something to prove. "This is usual weekend behavior. U all said I was
lying," he said.

He said it was safe and noted, "My mom is in the next room doing
crozzwordz."

As he took more and more, Vedas' typing became disjointed. His chat
pals cheered him on.

"Ripper - you should try to pass out in front of the cam," suggested
one gleeful voyeur.

Vedas even tried to protect himself against disaster.

"In fase anything goe wrong," he said, typing his cell phone number.
"Call if I look dead."

Soon, he did.

Soon, he was.

"I am online with 911. Is this the right choice?" asked one chatter.
"NO NO NO NO NO," said another. "I talked my way out of it," came the
reply. "I didn't give them any info."

In the end, there was nothing they could do.

Vedas' cell phone was off or not loud enough to rouse anyone else in
the house. They looked up his Web site registry, but he had listed his
home number as 555-1234.

And the online chatters didn't know his real name or location.

His mother found him at 1 p.m. the next day sprawled on his bed. The
tech whiz's computer had shut down and locked itself automatically, so
it wasn't until more than a week later that the family found out his
death had had witnesses.

"It seems like the group mentality really contributed to it," said his
brother, calling the transcript "disgusting."

"These people treat it like somehow it's not the real world," he said.
"They forget it's not just words on a screen."