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In a Facebook chat with his friend Mercedes Marko on Jtwo weeks before the party - Tyler complained that his mother had confiscated his cell phone. Nobody ever took Tyler seriously when he talked about killing his parents. He figured Tyler was trying to make a joke. But two weeks before that they had been hanging out at Markey’s house when Tyler blurted out, in the middle of a conversation, that he “wanted to kill his parents and have a big party after.” Nobody had ever done that before, Tyler said - throw a huge party with the bodies still in the house. Tyler had “seemed pretty fine” that night. Tyler’s friend Markey Phillips missed the party because he was visiting his grandparents in Chicago that weekend, but he had hung out with Tyler two nights earlier, playing video games and watching television at Markey’s house. Mark told Tyler that all parents pissed off their kids and Tyler, calming down, agreed. When Tyler was 10 years old, he showed up at the Andrews’ house after a fight with his mother. Tyler and Mark’s younger brothers were friends, and the families lived down the street from each other. Mark Andrews, 21, met Tyler 11 years ago, when Mark’s family moved to Port St. “They don’t live here,” Tyler told Richard Wouters. “They’re in Orlando,” he told Ryan Stonesifer. “They went to Georgia,” he told Mark Andrews. People kept asking Tyler where his parents were. Jose Erazo, a slight, soft-spoken 17-year-old with straight black hair combed at an angle over his forehead, was playing beer pong when he heard someone say, “Oh, he killed his parents.” Everyone laughed. The white keyboard was tacky with brownish dried liquid - beer, maybe, or Coke.
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Mike cued up Wiz Khalifa’s “No Sleep” and a couple of tracks from a Lil Wayne mixtape, “Tunechi’s Back” and “Racks.” The computer area was even filthier than the rest of the house. The table was directly next to the family computer, where kids took turns playing songs on YouTube. Some people are smoking, that’s all.”Ī large crowd had gathered around the beer pong table. “I smell dead people,” said the skater, giggling. Mike was talking with some girls on the couch when a very drunk skater kid - he looked like one of Tyler’s friends - ambled over. “Actually, just stay in the house,” said Tyler to nobody in particular. If the neighbors got alarmed, they might call the police. Tyler seemed less concerned with the destruction of his home than with the noise. Cigarettes were extinguished on the rug, the kitchen counter, the wall. In the living room, when bottles fell to the floor and shattered, kids laughed. They draped themselves over the couches, played beer pong on the dining table, scrounged for food in the kitchen cupboards and gathered in packs out front, tossing empty cans onto the lawn. “It’s my parents’ house.”īefore long there were 60 kids in the house. “I don’t want no one smoking inside,” said Tyler. His eyes were large and white, his pupils expanded, and he kept rubbing his hands together, nervously clenching his fists. He seemed anxious, or at least as anxious as you can be while on Ecstasy. Tyler answered the door wearing a long black T-shirt, black Dickies and black Nike Air Force high-top sneakers. So they figured they might as well check out the Hadley party. Mike and his friends had already spent three hours killing time at the mall in Stuart, 20 minutes down the coast, and another hour at McDonald’s. There was no access to the beach, no downtown, and no place for teenagers to hang out at night other than a giant arcade called Superplay USA, which advertises itself as a State-of-the-Art Family Playground. It had half a dozen golf courses, twice as many assisted-living homes, seven funeral homes, two bingo halls and a shuffleboard club. The city, 40 miles north of West Palm Beach, was a tomb, designed for the soon-to-be-entombed. There never was anything going on in Port St. But it was a warm summer evening in July and there was absolutely nothing else going on in Port St. His friends - potheads, juvenile delinquents, pill poppers - were not the type of kids Mike liked to associate with. At school he was quiet, approaching nonverbal, though occasionally prone to sudden, nonsensical outbursts in class. Tyler was distinctive looking, tall and skinny, nearly cadaverous at six foot one and 160 pounds.
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Mike, a popular, athletic junior, knew the host only by sight. The party was just getting started when Mike Young arrived with 10 or so of his friends around 11:30 p.m. No one was convinced by this, but at 8:15 p.m., Tyler posted another message:Īshley Haze messaged: “WHAO what what if your parents come home” Tyler posted a message on his Facebook wall: