Seventeen Real Girls, Real-Life Stories

by Seventeen Magazine

  The guys stopped by Kristin’s again a week or so later, and this time Mrs. Johnson offered to drive to the liquor store to buy them all beer and a bottle of Jack Daniel’s whiskey. After she returned home, she came on to several of the guys, like she had with Jon and Rex the week before. Mrs. Johnson’s flirting creeped them out a bit, but they also figured that the free alcohol was more than worth putting up with it.

  So the guys quickly got into a routine: Every few weeks they would go over to Mrs. Johnson’s (sometimes with their girlfriends) to drink and party, and Mrs. Johnson, glad to have a chance to be the “cool mom,” often gave them alcohol. By November the partying had gotten even more serious when the guys discovered that Mrs. Johnson had methamphetamine, a stimulant, stashed in her bathroom. She offered some to them and to Kristin, and even showed them how to snort it through a rolled-up dollar bill.

  Around this time, Mrs. Johnson’s neighbors started to notice that the same three or four cars were parked outside her home at least once a week, usually on weekend nights—and they saw the same young guys going in and out of the house. “I thought the guys were going over there to visit the daughter,” Mr. Bowler says. He and the other neighbors were getting fed up with hearing loud music at night from the guys’ car radios as they were coming and going. A couple of times Mr. Bowler saw Mrs. Johnson during the afternoon, and he asked her what was going on. “She’d always say they were just good kids hanging out,” he says.

  FRIGHTENING TURN

  As Jon lay naked on the floor that fall night, Mrs. Johnson climbed on top of him, kissing him and running her hands over his body. Jon was freaked out, but he’d never been in a situation like that before and didn’t know what to do. She clearly wanted to have sex with him—but he wasn’t into it. After all, this was his friend’s mom. But he didn’t say no, and Mrs. Johnson kept rubbing him. Then they had sex.

  “She basically raped me,” Jon said later. “There was no consent by me at all.” A few weeks after the assault, Jon was hanging out with his best friend, Tim,* 16, who was also a regular at Mrs. Johnson’s parties. Jon blurted out the whole story about what had happened: He told Tim that Mrs. Johnson had been all over him at the party—but that he’d been too drunk to know what he was doing.

  Tim was surprised, but he wasn’t shocked. Mrs. Johnson flirted a lot with the guys when they were drunk or high. No one complained about it—they didn’t want the others to think they were lame. After all, they were guys—they were supposed to want sex, right? And if they stopped hanging out at Mrs. Johnson’s, they wouldn’t have a place to drink. Tim could tell his friend Jon was upset—as Tim recalled later, Jon “had tears in his eyes when he told me.”

  In an attempt to convince himself he wasn’t upset, Jon continued to go to Mrs. Johnson’s house. The parties went on for an entire year—throughout the rest of the school year and the summer. During those 12 months, Mrs. Johnson eventually had sex with five of the guys. Sometime during the summer, she even had sex once more with Jon after he’d again had too much to drink. And that was when everything changed— after that second time, Jon got sick of the scene at Mrs. Johnson’s and stopped going to her parties. “I got tired of being around her. I got tired of being stupid and making bad decisions,” Jon later said.

  MAJOR CONFESSION

  Jon spent the rest of the summer doing other things— since his friends were still going to Mrs. Johnson’s, he didn’t want to be around them. His mom was worried that his behavior had changed so drastically—he’d stopped dating and didn’t seem interested in anything. But when she asked what was wrong, he just shrugged and said nothing.

  By September 2004, one of the guys finally broke down—and told his mother about the drinking at Mrs. Johnson’s parties. Furious, the mother contacted the police. At that time Mrs. Johnson was seeing a therapist, who told her the police had to be notified of what she’d done. Suspecting that she was facing serious trouble with the law, Mrs. Johnson decided to go talk to the cops.

  So on an afternoon in October 2004, Kristin’s mom walked into the Arvada Police Department. “I want to tell my side of the story,” she told Detective Robert Vander Veen, who was handling the case. “I’ve been having parties where I’ve given minors alcohol—and had sex with them,” she said.

  Mrs. Johnson explained that she didn’t really think she’d done anything wrong—she just wanted the guys to like her, she told the detective. Hanging out with them made her feel like she finally belonged. “I was part of the group,” she said. “I was a cool mom.” She later explained that she thought if she had sex with these boys, she wouldn’t get as emotionally attached to them as she might men her age. (She hoped to ultimately get back together with her ex-husband.) After talking to Detective Vander Veen, Mrs. Johnson drove home, where she waited to find out what crime she’d be charged with.

  COURTROOM DRAMA

  Mrs. Johnson was arrested on December 2, 2004—and on July 25, 2005, in a plea bargain with the district attorney, she pleaded guilty to nine counts of contributing to the delinquency of a minor (for serving drugs and alcohol to Kristin and the eight guys) and two counts of misdemeanor sexual assault.

  Approximately a year after her arrest, on November 14, 2005, she appeared at her sentencing hearing. Her lawyer had hired a psychiatrist, Frederick Miller, M.D., as an expert witness. Dr. Miller diagnosed Mrs. Johnson with type 2 bipolar disorder, a condition that can cause hypersexual and irrational behavior, and which he said allowed her to think that what she was doing was okay. Through her tears, Mrs. Johnson apologized to the judge for her crimes.

  The boys and their families attended the sentencing hearing, and many of the parents gave statements, calling Mrs. Johnson “perverted” and “narcissistic.” As a result the judge sentenced her to a whopping 30 years in prison, which she is currently serving. “The sentence was so harsh because Mrs. Johnson showed no empathy to the victims until she cried in front of the judge,” says Scott Storey, the district attorney who handled the sentencing.

  Mrs. Johnson’s attorney, Philip Cherner, thinks that her illness should warrant a lighter sentence. “She is mentally ill,” he says. “Yes, she did serious damage to these kids, but she admitted it. She said she was sorry, and she’s not an ongoing threat to the community.” He is in the process of filing an appeal.

  But Mr. Storey—and the victims—don’t agree. “Mrs. Johnson sees herself as the victim [because of her mental illness],” says Mr. Storey.

  And society may look at boys differently than girls in these sorts of cases, but make no mistake—these boys were victimized.”

  *Names have been changed.

  Dying to

  Get High

  Mellie and Maria, both 18, were good students

  who were close to their families and friends.

  That’s why everyone who knew them was so

  surprised by their tragic end.

  Mariel Carballo was getting out of the shower around 6:30 P.M. on Friday, August 12, 2005, when the phone rang in her family’s New York City apartment. The caller ID said it was Mellie, her 18-year-old daughter. “Hi, Melita,” she answered. “Is this Mrs. Carballo?” a man’s voice replied. Surprised, she demanded, “Who are you?” The caller said he was a policeman—he was calling from Cabrini Medical Center. “Is Mellie okay?!” Mrs. Carballo gasped. “It looks like she was drinking or doing drugs. Please come immediately.” In a panic Mrs. Carballo threw on some clothes and ran outside to hail a cab.

  FUN ONE

  Mellie Carballo had always been very independent. Back in eighth grade she had told her Argentinean parents she didn’t want to follow in her older sister Celeste’s footsteps by going to the same high school. Mellie already shared a bunk bed and a closet with Celeste—and that was enough. So the Carballos decided that Mellie would go to St. Vincent Ferrer High School on Manhattan’s East Side.

  Mellie had a quirky sense of humor—she often talked with a fake Valley Girl accent—and quickly made a lot of friends at St. Vi
ncent’s. But she also got frustrated by the school’s restrictive rules. So instead of wearing her uniform in the same way the rest of the students did, Mellie hemmed her skirt short and wore Guns N’ Roses pins to stand out. During sophomore year she even pierced her tongue—which shocked her mom. But Mrs. Carballo thought it was just harmless teen rebellion.

  During that same year Mellie started bonding with her classmate Maria Pesantez, a straight-A student from Jackson Heights, New York. Maria and Mellie were both into punk rock, especially The Clash, and wore band pins to school. “They loved to talk about music together and shop in the record stores in the Village,” says Gina Apestegui, 19, one of their friends from St. Vincent’s. Maria was definitely enamored of Mellie’s edginess. “Mellie was the leader of her group in high school,” recalls her sister, Celeste. “People always followed her and wanted to be like her.” But unlike Mellie, Maria had strict Ecuadoran parents, an early curfew, and a heavy honors workload to help keep her wild side in check.

  During her junior year, Mellie started going to hear music at downtown New York venues like CBGB. “Staying out late to dance is part of our culture,” says her mom. “I thought she was enjoying her youth, like you’re supposed to.” But what Mrs. Carballo didn’t know was that during her senior year, Mellie started snorting cocaine at some shows. People she knew were doing it—so Mellie thought it was no big deal.

  BAD SCENE

  After finishing high school, Mellie went to Hunter College in New York City, choosing to live at home to save money. During the day she took art history and psychology classes—but at night she was getting more and more in the club scene, where she’d listen to DJs, dance, and always meet new people. By the end of her first semester, Mellie was staying out until dawn a few nights a week—sometimes doing cocaine to stay energized. “She loved the club scene—the music, the fashion, the guys,” says Ashley Benatar, 19, one of Mellie’s friends from high school. “And she really liked how [drugs] made her feel,” adds Valerie Ponelli, 17, another friend. “When Mellie was high she could dance all night and then go to an after-party starting at 5 A.M.” Mellie felt like she had it all: cool friends, a tight-knit family, a good college—and a great party scene.

  One Thursday night in June 2005, Mellie was at a party when an older guy introduced himself as KC. He seemed soft-spoken and sweet, and after the two talked for a bit, they left the party together. “She found out he was a dealer and figured he’d give her free cocaine because he liked her,” a friend explains. Mellie was right: Over the next two months, KC sometimes gave her up to 15 grams of cocaine a week, and one of her friends says that Mellie’s cocaine use got so intense that she would take various pills to come down from her cocaine high and get some sleep.

  But even as Mellie’s partying was spinning out of control, it seemed like she was still holding the reins. She was always on time, went to the gym three times a week, and didn’t smoke or even drink coffee. “She acted like the same Mellie,” Mrs. Carballo explains. “It was summer, and I knew she was having a good time with friends, but we still had breakfast together every day.” The one thing Mrs. Carballo did notice was that Mellie was getting skinnier. “I did worry about how thin she was becoming,” Mrs. Carballo recalls. “But I never considered that she could be addicted to drugs.”

  FATEFUL DAY

  The week of August 7, 2005, Mellie was gearing up for that weekend’s Warped Tour. She already had plans to see Saturday’s show with friends—but she wanted to find someone to go with to Friday’s concert. Mellie wasn’t that close with Maria anymore, but she knew that Maria still loved the same music, so she called her Friday morning. “I’d love to go!” Maria said—and the girls decided to meet downtown a few hours later.

  Around 9 A.M. Mellie had a bowl of cereal with her mom. “I’m going to the beach,” Mellie lied, knowing her mom wouldn’t want her partying all weekend. About a half hour later, Mellie left. “Have a safe trip,” Mrs. Carballo said as she kissed her daughter goodbye.

  Mellie got on the subway and headed downtown. Sometime before noon she met up with Maria—and KC, who introduced them to his friend Alfredo Morales. Then they all headed to Alfredo’s apartment to party before Mellie and Maria went to the Warped Tour. Over the next few hours, Mellie, Maria, KC, and Alfredo are said to have listened to music and played Uno. They also reportedly drank alcohol and snorted eight bags of cocaine that may have been laced with heroin.

  It soon became clear that Mellie and Maria had inhaled more drugs than their bodies could handle: At first they just seemed really out of it, but after a little while they began to convulse—and turn purple. Then Mellie passed out, and the guys started to panic, so they carried Maria’s shaking body into the bathroom, hoping to stop her convulsions with cold water. But it didn’t work. At around 6 P.M., about six hours after the girls had first arrived there, KC and Alfredo frantically dialed 911: “Send an ambulance to 484 East Houston Street!”

  LOST HOPE

  Mrs. Carballo’s heart was racing as her cab sped to the hospital. “Mellie…what did you do?” she cried. A million thoughts raced through her head: Please let my baby be okay. I’m not strong enough for this. Mrs. Carballo imagined Mellie lying in a bed very sick and scared, waiting for her family. When the driver pulled into the emergency entrance, Mrs. Carballo threw some money at him and ran in to the front desk.

  “I’m Mellie Carballo’s mom. Where is she?” she asked worriedly. A doctor stepped out from behind the desk and motioned Mrs. Carballo to follow him to an empty room. “We found Mellie unconscious. We tried…” he started. “What?! What are you saying?” Mrs. Carballo yelled. “Is she dead?!” Slowly the doctor nodded. Mrs. Carballo wailed in disbelief, “I need to see her!”

  The doctor led Mrs. Carballo down the hall to a brightly lit room. She looked right past the nurses to Mellie, who was lying there with a tube coming out of her mouth—she looked like she was sleeping. Sobbing and shaking, Mrs. Carballo walked over to her daughter and hugged her, kissing her still-warm cheek. “Why?” Mrs. Carballo asked, weeping as she took Mellie’s hand. “Who did this to you? What could I have done?” She was overcome with an emptiness she’d never felt before.

  SHOCKING REALITY

  For the next day Maria was unconscious at Bellevue, another local hospital—until she also died from acute cocaine and heroin intoxication. Maria and Mellie were laid to rest at separate funerals. “She was so alive,” says Ashley, a high school friend of Mellie’s, who attended her funeral. “She thought nothing could happen to her—as did we.”

  On August 17, police arrested Alfredo Morales, 33— and charged him with selling cocaine to Mellie and Maria. Several days after that, KC—who actually turned out to be Roberto Martinez, 41, a member of a heroin-dealing gang called the Cut Throat Crew—was arrested for violating his parole and was sent to Willard Drug Treatment Campus in upstate New York. Morales was sentenced to five years in jail and five years probation.

  Since Mellie’s death, the Carballos are still trying to figure out how their daughter went from being a fun-loving, independent girl to a tragic victim of the New York party scene. They blame Roberto and Alfredo for pressuring the girls to do too many drugs. Meanwhile, the Pesantez family has accused Mellie, without proof, of trying to recruit Maria to be a customer for Roberto. (Friends say Maria used cocaine several times before the night she died.) But blame won’t bring either girl back, and Mrs. Carballo is left wishing she’d known about Mellie’s drug problem. “I knew her friends wanted to be loyal—but if only they’d told me,” she whimpers. “Now my entire world has come to an end.”

  Girl Still

  Missing

  One cold winter night, Maura, 21, just

  picked up and left her college campus—and

  vanished without a trace.

  Route 112 near Haverhill, New Hampshire, has lots of twists and turns, but none are quite as wicked as the 90-degree swerve across from the Weathered Barn, a dilapidated former antiques store. And at 7:30
P.M. on February 9, 2004, Maura Murray, 21, found out just how difficult it can be to navigate that turn—when she completely missed it.

  Maura’s ’96 Saturn careened off the road into the woods, barely missing a tree. She was fine. The car wasn’t. The radiator was damaged, and the wheels sank into a few feet of packed snow. About five minutes later, a school bus drove by. Butch Atwood, the driver, was off-duty and headed to his cabin just up the road. “Are you okay?” he shouted to Maura in her car. “Should I call AAA?”

  Maura rolled down her window and shivered from the 12-degree chill. She mumbled that she’d already called AAA for a tow. Atwood thought she seemed like she’d been drinking. “Okay,” he said, “I’ll call the police and fire department. Why don’t you come to my house? You can get warm and wait there.”

  “No,” Maura replied firmly, “I’ll wait here.”

  Atwood thought it was possible that Maura might have been scared of him—he weighs 350 pounds and has a grizzled beard—so he didn’t press the point. Instead, he drove the 100 yards to his cabin and called the police himself. About 15 minutes later, Atwood saw the police pull up to Maura’s car.

  When they looked inside, they found an open can of Skyy Blue malt liquor in the front seat. In the back was a suitcase filled with clothes; a stuffed monkey and a diamond necklace that her boyfriend, Bill Rausch, had given to her; two textbooks; and another book—Not Without Peril, an account of people who died climbing New Hampshire’s Mount Washington, bookmarked at a chapter titled “A Question of Life or Death.”

  But Maura was nowhere in sight.