Watching a Friend Smoking PCP Catch Fire and Die A hallway in the building on East 117th Street where a woman set herself ablaze on Sunday. The burnt elevator button is the only sign of the fire that killed Krystle Ortiz's friend, the 38-year-old Hilda Santiago. The last hour of Hilda Santiago's life began in a pew at the Roman Catholic Church of St. Paul in East Harlem. An odd place to find someone on her way to buy drugs, but there she was last Sunday, between Masses, with her friend and partner in crime, Krystle Ortiz. They made this trip often from their apartments in the Bronx: the No. 4 train downtown to the No. 6 train, then to church, then to 1780 Madison Avenue to "cop some dust," as they called buying PCP. Death would soon hopscotch along a path of coincidences - cold weather, a new lighter, a hat that didn't fit - and leave Ms. Santiago burning alive in an apartment hallway. Four days later, Ms. Ortiz answered her door, still in disbelief - "She's dead, right?" she asked - and spoke of that day. The friends dipped rosaries in the small urn of holy water and put them around their necks for luck and strength. They each lighted a candle and said a little prayer. They carried a container of potatoes that Ms. Ortiz had cooked for later. Smoking PCP makes you forget to eat. Ms. Ortiz, 26, 12 years younger than Ms. Santiago, called her "aunt," but she smoked less and was the more responsible of the two. She had lent Ms. Santiago a girlish pink hat that afternoon, with tassels dangling from earmuffs. It was too big and slid down. Ms. Santiago wore two coats. The women met about four years ago in the Bronx. Both were single mothers. Ms. Ortiz got her friend a job at a bar in Queens where she worked, but Ms. Santiago showed up high on her first day and was fired. "All my friends smoke," Ms. Ortiz said this week. She herself quit using PCP about a month ago, she said, when investigators with the city's Administration for Children's Services visited her apartment and asked about her 6-year-old daughter. The girl did not live there, but still the episode spooked Ms. Ortiz. On Sunday, she tagged along with Ms. Santiago to keep her safe, she said. They stepped outside the church. It was freezing. They jumped in a cab for the short ride around the corner to 1780 Madison. They saw the usual sight, no matter the weather: about 10 people waiting near the door to the building to buy drugs. Sometimes a lookout would scold them, saying, "You're making the spot hot." "I see ladies from the church," Ms. Ortiz said. Teenagers, grown-ups. You see people with canes. A lot of men that do construction. Clean-cut, nice job, a head on your shoulders. The women entered the building. "You go down a little lobby and you go to a second door and there's a man there, and they serve you," Ms. Ortiz said. She said she knew the sellers and lookouts by their nicknames: Mickey and Q, Skeet and Shy, E and C and others. Ms. Santiago bought $20 worth, and they left. "It was so cold," Ms. Ortiz said. They went just half a block before ducking into an apartment building at 58 East 117th Street. They took the elevator up five floors to the top. They were alone in the hall, warming, and Ms. Santiago decided to smoke. The drug's effects could be unpredictable. "Somebody I knew threw themself off a roof," Ms. Ortiz said. My friends used to fall down flat on their faces. It's a high that numbs your head. It makes you stuck. It makes you drool. Ms. Santiago asked for a lighter. Ms. Ortiz handed her a new one. Sometimes the flame on a new lighter is set too high. Ms. Ortiz said she did not remember if that was the case on Sunday. "Her hat started catching on fire," Ms. Ortiz said. "Everything just went "whoosh." All I saw was yellow and red flames. I tried to put it out. Her hands felt as though they were burning, and she had to step back. "She just started screaming, and I couldn't hear her scream anymore," Ms. Ortiz said. She was so high that she was not doing anything. She was just standing there. Ms. Ortiz collapsed in the smoke. Firefighters arrived. "They told me later I could have taken off my coat and rolled her on the floor," Ms. Ortiz said. You just don't think like that. She was charged with criminal trespass. Three days later, the police and the Manhattan district attorney's office announced the indictments of 35 people after sweeping raids at 1780 Madison and nearby buildings. The authorities said the raids followed an undercover investigation that lasted 15 months. Ms. Ortiz heard familiar names on the indictment - Skeet, Shy, Mickey and the rest - and shook her head in amazement. But she said, "Trust me, it's still going to be around." On Thursday, she needed to go to the East Harlem police station to pick up her things. On the way, she stopped at St. Paul's, crossed herself, and walked toward the dim glow of the candles. "I'll light one for her," Ms. Ortiz said.