Series: Requiem For Heroin's Victims - Part 5 Of 6

'YOU NEVER BELIEVE IT COULD HAPPEN TO YOUR KID'

Amanda Puyear A Typical Girl Until Former Boyfriend Turned Her On To
Heroin, Parents Say

When Amanda Puyear, and her cousin, Cory Wachs, were children playing in
the front yard of Amanda's grandparent's home in La Salle, Cory tossed a
hammer at a maple tree then watched it ricochet, seemingly defying physics,
and hit Amanda in the forehead.

"She was clumsy," Amanda's father James Puyear said. "She was always
bumping into stuff, tripping. If there was an accident to happen, she would
find a way to get hurt."

It's one of very few stories James can laugh about when thinking of his
daughter today.

Amanda Brianne Puyear, 17, of 208 E. Third St., DePue died at 2:45 p.m. May
11, 2005, in St. Francis Medical Center, Peoria, after overdosing on heroin
and cocaine. An inquest hearing has yet to be scheduled.

Like many teenage girls, Amanda was a mall rat. Shopping for clothes was
more of a passion than an activity, as were swimming and eating.

She and her mother, Lisa Wachs of La Salle, spent many summer days poolside
at The Daniels Motel in La Salle, where the manager would let them swim all
afternoon for $5.

On Saturdays, she visited her father, who along with Amanda's stepmother,
Monica Puyear, would take her to one of her two favorite restaurants, House
of Hunan or Mi Margarita Mexican Restaurant, both in Peru.

"Mandy like Taco Bell too, but I told her if she wanted an American taco, I
would make it for her," James said.

Amanda had a man-sized appetite, which James said put him to shame at the
diiner table, despite weighing about three times more than her. Yet it did
little to disrupt her 120-pound frame and photogenic face.

Sleepovers and slumber parties with friends were common, as was talking on
the phone. All together, her family says, most of Amanda's childhood and
teenage life was typical, aside from her one lament.

Amanda's birthday fell on Jan. 6. She often complained, somewhat jokingly,
to her parents that she didn't get as many presents because her birthday
was two weeks after Christmas.

"She always wanted to have a birthday swim party outside too, but it's
pretty cold in January for that," James said. "But she made out on
birthdays and Christmas because her mother and I were divorced."

Heroin Becomes An Acquaintance

Most Illinois Valley teenagers who choose to use heroin are introduced to
the illegal drug through a friend or an acquaintance. Amanda was no
different. In her case, it was a boyfriend, her mother said and friends
confirmed.

"He was doing it, she like him, so she tried it," Lisa said. "That's what
she told me later on."

The NewsTribune could not reach Amanda's boyfriend.

Amanda was 14 years old when they began dating, but little did her family
know her boyfriend was many years older than her.

Lisa said she had no clue about the age difference until three years later,
adding he looked very young and Amanda was a very convincing teenager.

Amanda, who lived with her mother in La Salle, began snorting heroin with
her boyfriend, but eventually, she later told Lisa, it didn't get her high
anymore. That's when Amanda's boyfriend taught her how to cook heroin and
shoot it with a syringe.

Lisa said she had no idea Amanda was using heroin until months before her
daughter died. When she looks back to examine if she had done wrong, all
she can think is that she misinterpreted Amanda's sometimes violent mood
swings. But even that wasn't a good indicator.

"When she was b____y she told me was PMS-ing when the truth was that she
was coming off that s___," Lisa said. "I had no idea. How was I supposed to
know?"

James, says, "Mandy was real good at hiding things and telling us what we
wanted to hear."

Amanda eventually dropped out of La Salle-Peru Township High School during
her sophomore year after getting too far behind in her classes.

"I didn't want her to but she said she had gotten too far behind and would
just wait to get her GED," James said. "Her dream was to get out of school
because she never really enjoyed it. And when they get to a certain age,
there's nothing you can do about it."

Her usual weekend visits to James in DePue turned into phone calls. Then
those phone calls eventually turned from conversation to Amanda simply
asking for money.

"I went along with it because that's what I'm told teenagers do," he said.
"They get to that age and become more interested in friends."

James and Monica were in the dark for the majority of the time Amanda
struggled with her heroin addiction. They, and Lisa, couldn't understand
why their daughter called for money so often, when she told them she made
$60 per day working five days a week as a waitress at Steak 'n Shake as a
waitress in Peru.

"I figured she was spending it all on clothes like most girls her age do,"
James said. "You just don't know. You never believe it could happen to your
kid."

The Search For A Cure

Amanda was getting ready for work in mid-February when she told her mother
she had something very important to tell her, but that she wanted to wait
until after she got out of work so her makeup wouldn't be ruined by her crying.

Lisa told her that if it was that important, she should tell her now.

"That's when she said she was a heroin junkie," Lisa said. "She said she
didn't want to be that way anymore. And then she said I hope you still love
me."

Lisa did love her, so much so that she didn't take her to work that
evening. Instead, they went straight to Illinois Valley Community Hospital
in Peru for help.

Amanda was admitted to IVCH Passages unit, which treats people with
substance abuse addictions. A blood test revealed that she tested positive
for heroin, so IVCH admitted her into detoxification.

During her stay, a counselor from Rosecrance Substance Abuse Treatment
Centers in Rockford assessed Amanda's problem with illegal drugs. This is
when Lisa learned the details on how tight of a grip heroin had on her
daughter.

The most shocking, Lisa said, was when she told the counselor she had been
using heroin since she was 14, after she began dating her boyfriend.

"I wanted to faint," Lisa said.

The plan was for Amanda to be taken to Rosecrance because there are no
inpatient substance abuse facilities in or near the Illinois Valley.

When a bed in Rosecrance became available near the end of March, Amanda was
immediately admitted. But there was a problem.

Amanda was covered under Monica's Principal Financial Group health
insurance plan. A couple days after Amanda was admitted, James said
officials from Principal told him they would not cover his daughter's
treatment because Rosecrance does not have a 24-hour registered nurse
available to its patients.

The family could not afford the $300 per day program, so they took Amanda out.

Cheryl Piper, director of nursing for Rosecrance Harrison Campus in
Rockford, said she has worked for the facility for at least two years and
24-hour registered nurses always have been available.

"We're inspected all the time and we're an accredited program," she said.
"We have to have 24-hour nursing here."

Rhonda Clark-Leyda, senior media relations consultant for Principal, said
if treatment providers feel significant changes in their care have been
made, then the provider should contact Principal for another review.

When asked if Principal had made a mistake in the case with Amanda,
Clark-Leyda answered, "If (Rosecrance) indeed has 24-hour RNs on staff..."
then stopped, saying she could not discuss the details of Amanda's case.

Clark-Leyda said the NewsTribune's investigation has prompted Principal
health officials to begin reviewing treatment services provided by Rosecrance.

Once Amanda was forced to leave Rosecrance, her addiction escalated.

About one month before Amanda died, Lisa became scared her daughter was
using heroin again. Her fear was so powerful, and perhaps warranted, that
she nailed shut the back door of the house and booby-trapped the front door
with some items that would make noise if someone opened the door.

"That way I could hear if she tried to get out of the house without me
knowing," Lisa said.

Instead, Amanda chose to jump out of the second story window of her
bedroom, about a 20-foot drop.

"She only did it once and came back about 30 minutes later, but after she
came back she screamed at me," Lisa said. "Her back was hurting her for the
next week."

Several days later, Lisa discovered a box of new bank checks sitting on her
kitchen table had been opened. After calling the bank, she learned the
first three or four checks in each book were missing.

Amanda later confessed she was using them to supply her heroin habit.

Lisa filed forgery charges April 22 against Amanda, and her daughter was
arrested.

"That really wasn't like Mandy," James said. "There's no doubt in my mind
that she wanted to get off of heroin. Maybe we made it too easy for her.
You just really don't believe it could ever happen to your kid."

While Amanda sat in La Salle County Jail waiting for a preliminary hearing
on her forgery charge, Monica had found White Oaks Companies of Illinois in
Peoria - a substance abuse treatment cetner that could fit the family's
working-class budget.

But the family decided to wait before getting Amanda out of jail.

"We wanted her to dry out in jail and make sure she knew where her path was
leading," Monica said.

On May 7, after Amanda had spent 15 days in jail, James and Monica posted bail.

The plan was to have Amanda move in with James and Monica in their home in
DePue. This would remove Amanda from what the family called her "bad
friends" and give her a new chance at life. She would check into White Oaks
on Monday, after spending Mother's Day weekend with Lisa, who had been
released the same day from St. Francis Medical Center in Peoria after being
treated for a breathing ailment.

"We told her it wasn't going to be rosy here," Monica said. "Things were
going to be different. She wouldn't be running back and forth to La Salle.
She was going to find new friends."

Amanda Succumbs To Temptation

Amanda wanted to rid heroin from her life. Her family doesn't doubt that.
But heroin doesn't release its victims without a fight.

While spending Mother's Day weekend with her mother, the phone rang
constantly. Each time, though, Lisa said Amanda put up with the annoying
ring. Amanda knew the bad influences in her life were out there, lurking,
and if she picked up the receiver, a chance to do heroin may be on the
other line.

By Monday, May 9, the temptation was too strong. She had planned to move
from her mother's house in La Salle to her father's house in DePue. But the
idea of one last dance with her nemesis combined with peer pressure from
her "bad friends," as the family calls them, possibly had overcome her.

Amanda told Lisa she was going to the movies with her friends and needed to
borrow $10.

After Lisa interrogated her daughter, questioning with whom she was going,
her mother gave her the money and permission to leave.

At about 3:45 p.m., Lisa saw Amanda get into a car with three people inside.

James later received a phone call from his daughter. She told him Lisa was
letting her stay out a little later and that he didn't need to pick her up
from the mall after the movies.

When James called Lisa to confirm, they learned Amanda had lied.

"She pulled a switch on us," James said. "We didn't know where she was going."

Later that night at 7:30, Shauna Kosteretz of La Salle got off work from
Burger King in Peru. Amanda and her friends picked Shauna up.

"I was excited because Mandy was finally out of jail," Shauna said.

Shauna and Amanda had been good friends for nearly 10 years. She said there
were times that she and Amanda would use heroin together, but not often.

"We've known each other for a long time and I know she would never lie to
me," she said. "That's why I was so happy when she told me she just got off
of heroin. I was trying to get off of it, too, at the time so I knew how
tough it was."

At about 8:15 p.m., Shauna and her boyfriend were dropped off at Shauna's
house. An hour later, Amanda was taken to her home in DePue.

Sauna said she had no idea anyone in the car had illegal drugs on them,
adding that there was no mention of anyone making such a purchase that day.

However, Amanda's parents and family are certain that at some point during
that afternoon, their daughter had obtained heroin and cocaine.

It's a mystery Lisa hopes local law enforcement officials will one day solve.

"They're still out running around while my daughter is lying dead in a
casket," Lisa said. "I've got to live in misery while these bastards
(whoever sold or gave her daughter cocaine and heroin) are still running
around."

A Battle For Amanda's Life

On Monday night, May 9, James and Amanda talked in the kitchen of his DePue
home while he made her a ham sandwich and one of her favorite side dishes,
buttered noodles.

They talked about what she and her mother did over the weekend and their
plans to get her enrolled in summer school. She also spoke excitedly about
getting her driver's license.

A couple hours later at 11:45 p.m., Amanda fell asleep on the living room
couch while watching television with James.

"I walked her up to her room that night, gave her a kiss and a hug and told
her I loved her," he said. "That was the last time I spoke to her."

The next morning, Tuesday, May 10, Monica went to see if Amanda was ready
to go shopping as they had planned the day before. But when she approached
the bedroom, she found the door shut, so she chose not to wake her.

"I didn't want her to think I was an intrusive stepmother so I let her
sleep in," she said.

As Monica got ready to go shopping, Amanda had woken up briefly at 10:30
a.m. She called her mother, telling her she loved her and wanted to move
back home.

An hour later, Monica went into Amanda's bedroom to wake her, at James'
suggestion, but she didn't respond.

Monica panicked. She dialed 911, telling the dispatcher that Amanda was
unresponsive. Her hands shook uncontrollably as the dispatcher instructed
her on how to check Amanda's vital signs.

Amanda was not breathing and had no pulse.

DePue police officer Jim Drake, a trained emergency medical technician,
arrived at the house minutes later and checked Amanda's vital signs, after
Monica had already done so.

Then, Monica said, Drake paced in the living room as he talked to James,
who was speeding down Interstate 55 and then Interstate 80, talking to
Drake on a cellular phone. James was trying to get back home from his job
in Naperville.

"I asked him if Amanda was alive and he told me he wasn't sure," James said.

Several minutes later, a DePue rescue ambulance crew arrived and began
cardiopulmonary resuscitation on Amanda. Then a Spring Valley 10/33
Ambulance Service crew arrived to take her to St. Margaret's Hospital in
Spring Valley.

James, Monica and Lisa met at the hospital, where a doctor told them a
blood screen revealed traces of heroin and cocaine in Amanda's blood.

"I figured that was what happened," James said. "Deep down in your heart
you know when someone has a drug problem. I really wasn't surprised, I just
wanted my daughter to be fine."

Amanda was taken by helicopter to St. Francis Medical Center in Peoria.

St. Francis doctors placed her on a ventilator that pumped oxygen into her
lungs, used drugs to keep her heart pumping and intravenously fed her a
saline solution to keep her body functioning.

During the next 24 hours, James, Monica, Lisa and nearly 20 family members
sat nervously quiet in a waiting room, as doctors gave them updates anytime
something new happened. No one ate more than a few snacks the entire time.

Doctors told the family Amanda's kidneys were failing and it was causing
her body to swell. They also suspected she was brain dead and that two
tests would be performed the next day to confirm it.

At 4 a.m. Wednesday, May 11, Amanda's heart stopped. Doctors were able to
restart it.

"They told us she would go into cardiac arrest again and asked us if we
wanted her revived," James said. "We told them yes, do anything you can to
keep her alive."

At about 1:45 p.m., two tests on Amanda's brain revealed she had been brain
dead from the moment she arrived due to a lack of oxygen. Not even one
brain cell was alive.

The family had two options. They could turn off the machines that kept
Amanda's body working or leave them on and wait for her organs to slowly
shut down one by one.

"To see all of our family in such pain was terrible," James said.

As a group, the family made its decision, and then a nurse turned off the
life support machines, telling them they had one hour.

Most of the family said their goodbyes, allowing James, Monica and Lisa
their privacy. Lisa, however, chose to stay in the waiting room. She just
couldn't watch her daughter slowly slip into death.

James stood on one side of Amanda's bed while Monica stood on the other.
Monica held Amanda's hand, gently rubbing her arm, while she and James
prayed. They told her she would soon be in heaven, walking with family
members who were waiting for her.

James leaned forward, gently kissed Amanda's forehead, then told her he
loved her and that he wouldn't leave her side while she made the journey
all must take.

At 2:45 p.m., Amanda left forever.

"It was disbelief," James said. "It was a big giant blur. I just wanted to
believe it was a nightmare and I would wake up."

Justice Crumbles Under Heroin

Their grief soon turned to anger. The family wants answers and the person
or persons responsible for Amanda's death to be held accountable. Bearing
the brunt of their frustration is the De Pue Police Department.

"God can strike me dead - he looked for vitals and that was it," Monica
said, referring to Drake.

Protocol for law enforcement officers is to check for vitals and make a
determination immediately afterwards if cardiopulmonary resuscitation can
help save the victim's life, Bureau County Sheriff John Thompson said.

"The officer makes a decision whether CPR will help the victim," he said.
"If so, then all officers are trained to perform CPR until medical
personnel arrive. If CPR won't help, then they don't."

Drake declined a NewsTribune interview.

After Drake searched Amanda's bedroom, James said he looked through it,
too. James found the burnt spoon his daughter used to cook heroin on top of
a box underneath her dresser in relatively plain view.

"I took it to the police station myself," he said.

DePue police also found a syringe in Amanda's purse but didn't believe it
had been used.

All of Amanda's family is frustrated with the Bureau County State's
Attorney's Office as well. They wonder if state's attorney Pat Herrmann
will continue the investigation and try charging the person who either gave
or sold Amanda heroin with drug-induced homicide.

"If the police investigate this it won't do no good because we've got to
get our state's attorney to want to pick up the case," James said. "But he
won't."

Not necessarily true, says Herrmann.

"I haven't seen the completed investigation yet," he said. "There needs to
be a lot done before a charge can be brought against anyone."

The family said they have lost faith in the criminal justice system and
local law enforcement agencies.

"I don't know what's going on," James said. "You read about these people
dealing drugs in the paper and then they're slapped on the wrist. I think
the drug dealers are getting away with it."

Not every investigator has angered Amanda's family. They are quite
impressed with DePue police chief Ric Beach, who has taken on the case and
is determined to bring those responsible to justice. Beach is on vacation
and unavailable to talk about his investigation with the NewsTribune.

"All the people on heroin should be arrested because it will save their
livers," James said. "That's why the police and prosecutors need to put the
little dealers in jail too because they're the ones killing people and
causing these problems."

While Amanda's family waits for St. Francis Medical Center officials to
send them the clothes she wore the day she died, they hope the local legal
system will eventually put closure on Amanda's death.

But in the meantime, nothing has stopped the pain of losing Amanda.

A Family In Torment

Several weeks ago, Lisa visited Amanda's grave at St. Vincent's Cemetery in
La Salle to place flowers. When Lisa reached her daughter's grave, she
dropped to her knees then wailed uncontrollably, hugging the ground above
where her daughter now rests for eternity.

"It feels like my life is over," she said. "I used to be happy all the
time, but now I just can't make myself that way."

Many who know Monica will see her quietly grieve either at her job or in
the middle of a social gathering, then ask if she is OK.

"Everything is not OK," she said. "When people ask me that, I just want to
ask them 'What the hell do you think?'"

Monica takes personal responsibility for Amanda's death, as does the rest
of the family.

"It's our job as parents to keep our children safe and I feel like I
failed," she said.

Even hearing Amanda's name spoken by family members makes Nicholas angry.
But, there are times he talks to his friends about her.

He's 15 and he's struggling to understand," James said.

Amanda's family has grown closer and they lean on each other for emotional
support. There are days when James and Monica visit Lisa in La Salle,
crying together as they share memories.

They also think of other Illinois Valley families who have lost a loved one
to heroin, or are currently fighting their own battle with a loved one who
has a problem with substance abuse.

"Many families are going through heartache and agony right now," James said.

"You can't tell me that a parent who knows their kid is using drugs can lay
their head on a pillow at night without wondering if their child will come
home."

Amanda led a typical childhood and teenage life until heroin slyly crept in
and took over. It's a fate that could befall anyone.

"Heroin made my daughter weak," James said. "I don't think basic people can
understand that unless they go through it."