DARDENNE PRAIRIE — One night last week, well after most of the families in this quiet community went to bed, a half-dozen police cars sped down Waterford Crystal Drive, lights flashing.

A man, they were told, had been fatally shot inside a home.

Neighbors opened doors, peered out windows and watched. As many as 15 deputies, they said, drew weapons and charged the home of Lori and Curt Drew.

But there was no body lying in a pool of blood. No weapon in Curt Drew's hand.

The call was a prank, one of many at the Drews' home this year. A lawn job. A brick through a window. Threatening phone calls. Paintball attacks.

The neighborhood is angry.

Residents are struggling to understand what happened here, in two homes four doors apart.

By now, the story is the subject of both national discussion and schoolyard lore:

One year ago, 13-year-old Megan Meier tied a cloth belt around a support beam in her closet and hanged herself. Her parents first said she was driven by a soured online romance, and the cruel, taunting Internet messages of a boy named Josh Evans.

Then they were told that Josh Evans didn't exist — that the Drews had concocted him to get back at Megan for quarreling with their daughter. According to a police report, Lori Drew said she wanted to know what Megan was saying online about her daughter and had "instigated and monitored" the fake account.

The Drews declined to comment for this story.

For the next year, the Meiers struggled privately for justice.

The FBI seized computers and interviewed families, yet gave up after a few months. Representatives from the St. Charles County Sheriff's Department said they could find no appropriate criminal charge. A U.S. prosecutor said much the same.

Even early interest from high-profile law firms, the Meiers say, has died down recently.

Authorities say there's little they can do.

And that leaves a neighborhood enraged at its own neighbors — the Drews.

"I flick 'em off whenever I see 'em," said Dave Beard, 26, who lives next to the Meiers.

The police are now worried residents will take the law into their own hands.

"Everybody in our department knows what's going on," said Lt. Craig McGuire, spokesman for the St. Charles County Sheriff's Department. "And everybody is afraid of what's going to happen there."

ACROSS THE COUNTRY

The problem, police and prosecutors say, is that technology is outpacing the law.

In some cases, said Jack Banas, St. Charles County prosecutor, the trouble is with evidence, and tracking the source of threatening Internet messages. "It may not be your neighbor who is sending it to you," Banas said. "It may be someone from another country."

In other cases, laws don't yet address online misconduct.

"It's a vast problem," he said.

And a national one.

In Florida, Jeff Johnston, 15, hanged himself by his book-bag strap in 2005 after three years of cyberspace bullying. His mother and principal had tried to stop the threats but couldn't.

In Vermont, Ryan Halligan, 13, hanged himself four years ago, after instant messages insulted and threatened him for months.

And here in O'Fallon this past April, a teen, now in college, got more than 500 sexually threatening and harassing messages through MySpace — the same social networking site Megan used to meet and talk to the fictitious Josh Evans.

Sometimes law enforcement can find ways to prosecute the bullies. But much more often, the indiscretion doesn't fall into an existing crime category.


Megan Meier

In Megan Meier's case, authorities don't even see a misdemeanor.

"There does not appear to be a violation of any state statute, any federal statute," McGuire said. "We looked at it. The prosecuting attorney's office looked at it and the U.S. attorney's office looked at it, and there did not appear to be a charge."

'MY NAME IS JOSH'

Megan struggled with depression and a lack of confidence most of her life, her family said. She even threatened suicide a few times.

Megan was so badly bullied in seventh grade, and so unhappy, her parents pulled her from public school and moved her to the local Catholic grade school.

By the start of eighth grade, Megan had improved dramatically, her mother said. Her grades were good. She had shed a few pounds, as well as troublesome friendships. She seemed happy.

At roughly the same time, the Meiers gave Megan back Internet privileges she had lost in seventh grade after she and the Drews' daughter had set up a fake MySpace account, they said.

Back online, a boy messaged Megan almost immediately. Megan's mother was suspicious but let them talk under tight supervision.

Megan and Josh chatted online for roughly six weeks, Tina Meier said. Megan thought Josh really liked her. Her confidence soared.

Then, on Monday, Oct. 16, 2006, Josh told Megan he'd heard she was a bad friend. According to the FBI transcript, Josh wrote: "yeah this is how i want to end it."

Megan was distraught: "josh i thought u were a nice guy but u ant ur just another (expletive) (expletive)."

Her mother told Megan to log off, then left for an appointment.

Megan, desperate to know who had told Josh she was mean, kept typing. As she guessed names, some of those teens fired back responses.

The effect, Tina Meier said, was an online pile-on.

The final message of the evening, the Meiers said, pushed their daughter over the edge. It's not in FBI transcripts. But Ron Meier remembers it saying this: "The world would be a better off place without you."

Tina Meier returned home to find her daughter sobbing at the computer. Meier sent Megan to her room.

Roughly 20 minutes later, Ron and Tina found their daughter hanging by a belt, knees bent, toes on the ground.

THE AFTERMATH

Megan Meier died the next day, just short of her 14th birthday.

But it took nearly six weeks before the Meiers found out Josh was fake.

Neighbors had to keep Ron Meier from attacking the Drews.

"I thought about killing them, cutting their heads off," Ron said.

Instead, Tina and Ron took an ax and a sledgehammer to a foosball table they had been storing for the Drews. They spray-painted "Merry Christmas" on its box, and dumped the splinters in the Drews' driveway.

The moment galvanized the neighborhood against the Drews.

The Meiers say the Drews came to their door several times, but the Meiers refused to talk. The Drews sent a letter, too, wanting to tell their story: "Things have now taken a turn that suggest that whatever information is being discussed surely goes beyond what we know."

Over the next year, it became clear to the Meiers that neither law enforcement nor law firms would bring the justice they wanted. They turned to the media. The Suburban Journals broke their story a little more than a week ago.

Overnight, the story made national headlines.

Bloggers ran with the story, inserting their own opinions. Thousands of readers responded. Erica Leger, 15 and a student at Francis Howell High School, wrote on facebook.com: "Show this to everyone, parents or other adults. We need to do something. Her death will be avenged."

The Meiers swore to fight for new laws.

The media attention has helped. Banas, the St. Charles County prosecutor, has decided to review the case. The Dardenne Prairie Board of Aldermen has pledged to adopt a new ordinance making Internet harassment a misdemeanor — the strongest measure it can take.

A BROKEN FAMILY

Before Megan's death, the Meiers were on top of life, neighbors said.

Court records show they had a 40-foot, $123,000 motor-yacht, a $300,000 house in a gated community in Florida, and a neighborhood they loved.

Now, they have the bills. Their Florida home is on the market. They've each filed restraining orders against the other. They're getting a divorce.

"Our family's broke up," Ron said. Tina moved in with her mother. Their other daughter, 11-year-old Allison, spends most of her time there.

The house on Waterford Crystal Drive feels empty, Ron says.

In Megan's room, he's put everything back as he remembers it. Her clothes are hanging again in the closet. Boy band posters cover the walls. The bed is made.

Ron has added stuff, too. A pink Christmas tree, decorated by friends. Two volleyballs, signed by Megan's teammates and classmates. A Hershey's bar, just like Megan used to give out, for good cheer.

There are also two light-up angels, hung in the front window.

Most nights, when Ron gets home and the street is dark, he plugs in the angels, and he feels a little closer to Megan.



Jessica Bock of the Post-Dispatch contributed to this report.

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