HEROIN EXACTS TOLL ON CAPE FAMILY

He walked with an athlete's grace and smiled shyly with beguiling
charm.

He dried his clothes outdoors and carried the scent of the seasons
wherever he ventured.

Curtis L. Hendricks II saw himself as a protector of his mother, his
two sisters and his girlfriend.

If a friend was suffering, he would enfold the other in a warm bear
hug trying to absorb the pain. He thought he could fix anything.

But the 26-year-old could not fix himself.

Hendricks died last month after taking an overdose of heroin. The
family is still waiting for toxicology reports, but have little doubt
it was the addiction to heroin that killed him.

"That's the insidious nature of addiction," said his mother, Paula
Hendricks, a substance-abuse counselor at Gosnold Treatment Center who
has been clean for nearly a decade after her own struggle with an
addiction to painkillers. "It can kill you even when you are on the
road to recovery."

Hendricks is one of three men who died the same weekend after using
heroin thought to have come from the same source, according to police.

Hendricks was at a relative's home in Mashpee when he took the drug.
Rushed by ambulance to Falmouth Hospital, he lingered in intensive
care for three days, never emerging from a drug-induced coma.

The bitter irony, said those who knew him, is that in the weeks
preceding his death, Hendricks appeared to have turned a corner after
suffering through a number of relapses.

"Curtis looked good. He had more confidence in himself. He was
becoming the Curtis we knew he could be," said Tia Johnson, his
girlfriend of several years.

For the first time in more than a decade, Hendricks and his family
believed this time he might make it.

Addiction Takes Over

He was working for a cement form company in Falmouth, starting to
attend 12-step meetings, and once again was taking pride in his appearance.

"Curtis was beginning to believe in himself, and believe that he could
make it," Paula Hendricks said. "And then he fell. And the drugs
killed him."

"One thing you have to understand about addiction is that it changes
the way you think. It literally changes your brain," Tia said.

Certain situations can trigger the behavior associated with addiction.
When a trigger is pulled, the addict is predisposed to behave in a
certain way.

It is the addiction that takes over. One trigger can cause a domino
effect and for the addict, the consequences of the behavior don't work
into the equation, she says.

For Hendricks, his family believes, the triggers were cash in his
pocket and exposure to drug use.

Hendricks was paid Friday, cashed his check, but did not get to the
bank in time to deposit the money. He overdosed Sunday and died the
following Wednesday.

"That last day and night of his life ... he had money in his pocket.
We went to see 'American Gangster,' this movie that had a lot of
violence and heroin use in it. I think that triggered the addiction,
it started this process over which he had no control," Tia said.

His family members said Paula Hendricks' addiction to opiates a decade
ago was a painful period in their lives.

The success rate of recovery for opiate addicts is very low, only
about 2 percent. Paula Hendricks, in other words, is an exception.

So why then, knowing this -- and Paula Hendricks never hesitated to
talk about her addictions and their cost with her children -- did
Hendricks fall into drug use, a trap his sisters have avoided?

A Darker Side

By all accounts, Hendricks was a delightful child -- sweet tempered,
mischievous and brave. Among his childhood pictures is one that
captures his essence, independent and resourceful. In this photo,
Hendricks is barely out of his toddler years. He stands outside his
childhood home in Mashpee, a white cap askew and atop his head.
Hendricks beams with pride holding a fish toward the camera -- his
first catch, landed with a self-made rod of stick, string and hook.

Like any typical brother, he gleefully teased his sisters, chasing
them and friends around the backyard. He and younger sister Maggie,
separated by only a year, were the closest of the three siblings.

"We were friends, even as little kids," Maggie Hendricks said. She
points to a picture taken one summer. She is about 4, her lips are
pursed as she leans forward to kiss a frog her older brother is
offering her.

"He told me one kiss and the frog will turn into a prince," she said,
laughing. "He always kept an eye out for me as I got older. He wanted
to make sure I found a prince and not a frog."

Older sister Rachael Kiley added: "We keep going over this and over
this. Was there something we could have done? Something we could have
said? If this had happened, if that had happened, would Curtis be
alive today?"

There was little doubt Hendricks cherished his ethnic heritage. His
tribal name was Little Cougar. He loved to be with his father in the
woods and along the water like their Wampanoag ancestors.

From his mother's side, the Celts, he inherited a love of music and
artistic flair. He was, when times were tough, always ready with a
sense of humor.

But there was a darker side, a propensity to addiction. There are
alcoholics on both sides of Hendricks' family, his mother said.

A loving child who became a sensitive man, "Curtis was always looking
for where he belonged," Paula Hendricks said. "I think from the first
time he used drugs he was hooked. The real spiral began between five
and six years ago."

"Curtis started smoking pot when he was 12 or 13," she said. "It was
about peer acceptance to some degree."

His sisters believe Hendricks' early drug use was also related to
their parents' divorce, a theory Paula Hendricks endorses.

In 1990, when Curtis started middle school in Sandwich "he arrived
with a long braid down his back," Paula Hendricks said. Sandwich "was
a very different culture."

In an effort to gain acceptance, Hendricks asked his mother to cut off
his braid. She brings it out to show a visitor, a silken,
mahogany-colored remembrance of his childhood.

Downward Spiral

Paula Hendricks makes no excuses for her son's drug use. She believes
he began using crack cocaine in his late teens, like a lot of young
people in the crowd he socialized with in Mashpee.

In the early years Hendricks tried to keep his drug use secret from
his mother. He later sought advice from her about addiction.

"He took the heroin one day when he was really wired on coke. I
believe the first time he tried it he was hooked," Paula Hendricks
said. "That's when the downward spiral began."

As so often happens when substance abuse takes over a person's life,
Hendricks began getting into trouble.

He tangled with police. He got into fights. He broke into a home. His
growing criminal record was rife with what many in law enforcement
call "crimes of stupidity."

Even so, Hendricks expressed shame and fear about his record. He was
similarly ashamed of his addiction and relapses. He might have had his
problems in his personal life, but some of his former employers on the
Cape said Hendricks was a dedicated employee.

Hendricks would frequently deny the negative effects of the addiction.
He'd leave a job. He'd flounder. Sometimes he would talk openly about
drug use and his desire to get well. Other times, when family
confronted him, he would become angry, try to divert their attention
and storm out of the house.

But he would always return with an apology and a plea for
help.

He sought help time and time again. He went into residential treatment
four times. The most recent was a year ago December 2006 when he
entered a program in Arizona.

"Curtis would have to leave treatment when insurance money ran out, or
when a private-pay patient needed a bed. There aren't enough beds for
our sick kids. They aren't allowed to stay in treatment long enough,"
she said.

Addiction is a disease of relapses, and Curtis had more than his
share, Paula Hendricks said.

He began the program in Arizona, bought a car, began working and
believed he was well on the path to recovery.

But he relapsed, used drugs again and as a result was booted out of
the program. He called his mother at 3 a.m., tearfully confessing what
happened.

With the help of a colleague, she was able to arrange his return to
the program temporarily. But in March he returned to the Cape
determined to use the skills he gained in Arizona.

He came home and despite a few false starts, eventually settled onto
the path of recovery. He began living with his father, frequently
visited with his mother and sisters and began attending 12-step programs.

But he slipped again. This time the consequences were
fatal.

What If?

On the Sunday he overdosed, Hendricks slept late while his girlfriend
went to work. Later in the day he got a ride to Falmouth with his
father. Hendricks planned to pick up some new clothes at Wal-Mart
while his father went fishing nearby.

Somewhere -- and his parents are still awaiting specific details from
the police investigation into their son's death -- Hendricks met up
with someone from his old life. That, along with cash in his pocket
and the impression of the previous night's movie, proved a fatal
combination.

"There are so many what-ifs," his sister Rachael said. "What if he
hadn't cashed the check, what if he hadn't gone to Falmouth. What if,
what if," her voice fades.

If there was anything that would have upset Hendricks, it would be the
pain etched on the faces of those who attended his burial in the Old
Indian Cemetery last month.

More than 100 people shuffled through the fallen oak leaves as they
headed to the graveside ceremony with the scent of burning cedar
wafting through the air and the beat of native drums.

But if there was anything that would have pleased Hendricks, it would
be to witness the small ember of hope glowing in the hearts of those
who loved him.

"We want Curtis' life to stand for something, and apart from the love
he gave all of us, we want his life to stand for hope," said his mother.

"We want something to come out of his death, and that is help for
other young people who get trapped in addiction."