The mom of the girl Christina Pike tortured to death slammed Tennessee officials after she watched the botched lethal injection attempt — which ended with officials shuffling her out of the observation room.
Pike, 50, who kidnapped and mutilated 19-year-old Colleen Slemmer in a Satanic killing in 1995 near the University of Tennessee, remained alive a day after Wednesday night’s failed execution was called off following two rounds of injection.
Slemmer’s mother, meanwhile, is furious that Pike isn’t in the morgue.
“They f–ked up,” May Martinez, said in a message to Tennessee’s governor and attorney general, speaking to NBC News.
Slemmer’s stepfather, Raul Martinez, also slammed officials for failing to carry out the execution, and said his stepdaughter’s soul “cannot rest” until her killer is ᴅᴇᴀᴅ.
“This bitch will haunt Colleen’s heavenly journey until she’s been wiped off the face of the earth,” he wrote in a Facebook post.
The bitter comments came more than 30 years after Pike — who was 18 at the time — became convinced Slemmer was trying to steal her boyfriend.
She and a crony lured Slemmer to an abandoned steam mill and tortured her for an hour while a third girl stood watch.
Pike stripped Slemmer half naked, sliced her with a box cutter and butcher knife hundreds of times as she begged for her life.
When she got bored, Pike carved pentagrams into Slemmer’s forehead and chest.
Eventually Pike picked up a chunk of asphalt and bashed Slemmer’s head over and over — then kept a sliver of the girl’s skull as a souvenir.
Pike would go on to become a cause célèbre for death-penalty opponents, who mounted a high-profile clemency campaign focusing on her troubled youth and the fact that she was just 18 when she murdered Slemmer.
Pike grew up in a broken home, was shuffled between relatives and group homes, and her mother testified that Pike became pregnant as a teenager, was using cocaine and ultimately had an abortion.
She said she was violently Sєxually ᴀssaulted when she was 16; her terror of being pinned down by a man is why she requested an all-woman execution team, her lawyers said.
Pike’s horrific past has become the center of her story for years as she fought her death sentence.
May Martinez wants the story to be about her ᴅᴇᴀᴅ daughter.
“It’s never about the victims. It’s like Colleen was never there,” she told CNN.
When she finally went to the execution chamber viewing room to see justice done, “It was a mess,” she told NBC.
💔 STELLA PARTON BREAKS HER SILENCE — What She Said About Dolly’s Health Has Fans Looking Back
Dolly Parton’s Sister Breaks Silence What Really Happened - GMT - G1
Stella Parton was born May 4, 1949, the sixth of twelve children raised by Robert Lee and Avie Lee Parton in Sevierville, Tennessee — a household defined by noise, limited money, and almost no privacy, the kind of environment that produced strong, determined personalities.
Stella was one of them.
By seven, she was appearing alongside her older sister Dolly on a Knoxville television program; by her teens, she was writing her own songs, though marriage and motherhood pulled music to the margins of her life for a stretch.
The dream never fully disappeared.
In 1967, she recorded a gospel album with her mother and sisters, and later worked clubs in Washington, D.C., before founding her own record label in 1975 and releasing “I Want to Hold You in My Dreams Tonight,” which climbed to number nine on the country charts.
Long before any of that commercial success, Stella had already shown a willingness to take positions others avoided.
At 26, amid backlash against Australian singer Olivia Newton-John for winning recognition in country music, Stella recorded “Ode to Olivia” in her defense — a stand that offered her no career benefit and real risk of criticism, but one she took anyway simply because she believed staying silent was the wrong choice.
That instinct defined the rest of her career: hits like “The Danger of a Stranger” and “Steady as the Rain” (written by Dolly) built a genuine, independent following, including in the U.K., while Stella also worked in New York theater and spoke openly, often controversially, about poverty, domestic violence, and the treatment of women in the music industry.
She was named the Christian Country Music Association’s Female Vocalist of the Year in 2004.
Through all of it, she remained defined publicly, more often than not, as simply “Dolly’s little sister” — a label she spent five decades quietly proving didn’t tell the full story.
That same directness is why her comments in the fall of 2025 carried real weight.
Stella had never positioned herself as the family’s image manager or spokesperson; she was, by reputation, someone who believed difficult truths shouldn’t stay hidden indefinitely.
What she described wasn’t dramatic or accusatory — it was a portrait of a woman who had spent years prioritizing everyone else’s needs over her own.
The context mattered.
Carl Dean, Dolly’s husband of nearly sixty years, died in March 2025 at 82, after a long illness during which Dolly had devoted herself almost entirely to his care.
She later acknowledged that in the process, she’d neglected her own health significantly.
The loss reverberated through the whole extended family — the Partons had lost three brothers in the years surrounding this period, compounding grief that, for a family that had once crowded twelve children into a single small home, meant losing pieces of a shared childhood one after another.
Stella herself went seven years without releasing new music during this stretch, later describing the period simply as one shaped by sorrow, while still speaking about the importance of finding moments of laughter within it.
Looking back, one moment reads very differently in hindsight than it did at the time: in late September 2025, Dolly postponed her planned Las Vegas residency, citing health challenges — a rare cancellation for a performer whose six-decade career had included very few of them.
At the time, most fans treated it as a minor, temporary setback.
Stella’s later reflections suggested the signs had actually been building for some time, visible to family in ways the public smile made easy to miss.
That concern crystallized publicly not long after, when Dolly’s younger sister Frieda posted a simple request on Facebook asking fans to pray for Dolly.
What looked at first like an ordinary, well-meaning gesture spread rapidly, sparking widespread speculation about how serious Dolly’s condition actually was.
Dolly herself responded directly within days, appearing in a video from a Grand Ole Opry commercial shoot, insisting with her familiar humor that she wasn’t finished yet — the now widely remembered “I ain’t dead yet” moment that briefly quieted public concern.
In the months that followed, the pattern repeated: reassuring updates about kidney stones, dehydration, and treatment, paired with continued work on new projects, right up until Dolly Parton’s death on August 25, 2026, at 80.
Looking back across that full timeline — the postponed residency, the family’s public worry, Stella’s own account of a sister who consistently deprioritized her own wellbeing — it becomes easier to see what the people closest to Dolly understood well before the rest of the world did: that the warmth and resilience the public saw every time she appeared on camera came at a real, largely invisible cost.
