15 Acres, a cotton gin, and two bodies.

 Two years ago, a beautiful life came to a violent end because she dared to walk away from a toxic relationship. This is the story of the last hours of Adilene Adame.

https://www.hansardfamily.com/obituary/adilene-adame

It was the end of my first year back in school. It was Adilene’s last day. Period. She was a beautiful 27-year-old, full of life. A track star in high school and college, Addy returned home to take the position of high school special education teacher, coach, and cheerleader sponsor. She loved her students and they returned that love. In the heart of her hometown, she was still a super star. Bright, shining.

May 20th was “check out day” for both of our districts. Clean your room, turn in grades, check in tech, teacher appreciation luncheon, go home and start recovery. I crashed that night knowing we were going out to the gin to start clearing 30 years worth of trash and weeds. We had one month to get it ready for the delivery of our container cabins. I whined, I begged, just one hour more of sleep. Instead of getting there at 7, we rolled in at 10. 30 minutes too late, or just right depending on your perspective.

We drove up to the entry and saw an unfamiliar truck parked on our land. We’d only owned it for a couple of months; not long enough to establish our presence in the neighborhood, so the locals still treated it as theirs. I inched the van closer, close enough to see a pair of bare male legs sticking out of the weeds.

“Probably some drunk, I’ll go, you stay here.” Spouse was out before I could say anything. And really, am I the type to “stay here?” Previous day was hot and sunny, 94 for the high. That morning was cold and misty, overcast and nasty. Who would be dressed like that? I was about five seconds behind, cleared the overgrowth, and there they were. They. I didn’t make a sound because I stopped breathing.

Law enforcement pieced her last day together. Some fact, some speculation. The week before, Addy had broken off her engagement after finding out the truth about her fiancé. He was 10 years older than her, had a wife and son back in Mexico, and was still involved in drugs. He was jealous of the time she spent away from him with her coaching duties, and wanted her to quit and stay home to take care of him and any kids they had. Addy hadn’t worked so hard to get a job she loved just to quit. Not for any man. Especially not for him. Needless to say, he didn’t take it well. Her last hours were spent celebrating the kids she loved, many of whom had just graduated. She got home around 11. Her murderer was waiting for her garage door to open. He rushed in. From the damage and amount of blood, the main attack happened throughout the living room and kitchen. There were bullet holes, but no gunshot wounds. She had a gun for self defense, but hadn’t had time to train. Addy fought for her life and lost. Next piece of evidence was our trail cameras recording a truck pulling in at 3 am on the 21st and leaving minutes later. It was too far away to identify the truck or driver.

I don’t know how long I stood there, but I will never forget what I saw. I must have made a noise because my husband whipped around, picked me up, and carried me back to the van. He put me in and told me to go to the gin and call it in. I called the county sheriff directly. It seems they had been looking all morning for what we found, because as soon as I described them, the dispatcher was on the radio calling all units. Two bodies, one male, short stocky Hispanic, on his face wearing shorts, polo, flip flops. One female, face up, short, athletic, long dark hair, shorts and blouse. Barefoot. Then we waited for the sheriff.

He destroyed her. I close my eyes and still see the wounds. All on her left: poke wounds-jabs- on her left thigh and abdomen. 8 inch long gash on her left forearm through the muscle. Slash down through her left eye, opening her cheek. Gash from mid throat to under her ear. Deep puncture just above her collarbone. She had bled out somewhere else. He was face down in a pool of bright red, liquid blood, untouched except for the knife jabbed into the left side of his neck. He had fallen across her arm, outstretched from where he dumped her, and died. Probably 30 minutes before we got there. I think that’s what pissed me off the most. That final act of dominance, intimacy, when she couldn’t refuse.

The common wisdom is that he dumped her, went to his granddad’s house up the road, took a shower, napped, had breakfast with the family, and then went back and committed suicide. I have questions, but around here, it’s best to keep your mouth shut. 

Two years later, I’m still pissed. Every time I drive up or down the driveway, I pass the crime scene. I walk into class, and I have a couple of his nieces and nephews. It took six months before I stopped having a panic attack every time I approached the driveway. When I go to Region 16 training, I sit with her coworkers. Her position is still open. And still, I’m not as affected as Addy. Beautiful, talented, loving. Gone at 27 because she loved the wrong man.

Rest in peace, Adilene.