HEAVEN. HELL. HEROIN. Lessons learned from one young man's death

Mother and son spoke little that night as they drifted from the teenager in the coffin toward her family in the corner......

Roger Pacheco arrived at his son’s Billerica apartment early Saturday night, where he met local police. Stephen’s mother had called them.

Stephen hadn’t been heard from since Thursday, hadn’t responded to two-dozen messages — and hated being alone.

Still, no one talked of a relapse — Stephen had been too strong. Too happy. Too focused on the future.

The door of the third-floor apartment was cracked, so his father entered first, calling his son.

Signs of life abounded. A lunch had been packed. Lights were on. The television. And the air conditioner — set so high it had chilled the room.

But atop the kitchen table sat the mark of death — baggies speckled with a brown granular substance.

Heroin.

Water ran in the bathroom.

On the floor near the sink, Stephen Pacheco lay dead.

His father fell to his knees, but knew from the first touch.

His son was gone.