In a stunning failure that has reignited national outrage, Tennessee’s attempt to execute Christa Pike—the only woman on the state’s death row—collapsed in late September 2026. After receiving the maximum two doses of pentobarbital, Pike remained conscious, was rushed to a hospital in critical condition, placed on a ventilator, and has since remarkably recovered: conscious, speaking in full sentences, walking, and returned to prison by mid-October. Governor Bill Lee immediately halted all remaining executions for 2026 and ordered an independent review, while the corrections commissioner resigned amid the chaos.

For the family of Colleen Slemmer, the 19-year-old whose 1995 torture-murder put Pike there, it was another devastating blow. “Being in prison was not justice,” said Slemmer’s niece Morgan Seeley. Her grandmother, May Martinez, has barely eaten since the botched procedure. Stepfather Raul Martinez posted an image of the scales of justice emblazoned with “Justice for Colleen,” writing that her soul “cannot rest until this monster succumbs to the 2 doses of pentobarbital that she was given.” The family, who traveled nearly 10 hours to witness what they hoped would be closure after 31 years, feels the system has failed them yet again. “They need to get their act together,” Seeley urged state leaders. “Stop playing around with victims’ families when they know that this case is so brutal.”

The crime itself remains one of Tennessee’s most haunting. On January 12, 1995, Pike, then 18, her boyfriend Tadaryl Shipp, 17, and Shadolla Peterson lured classmate Colleen from their Knoxville Job Corps dorm under the pretense of smoking weed or making peace. In a wooded area near the University of Tennessee agricultural campus, they tortured her for an extended period. Pike used a box cutter and meat cleaver to slash her throat and torso. A pentagram was carved into her chest. Rocks were smashed into her head; Pike reportedly crushed her skull with a large chunk of asphalt. Pike later told investigators she “felt mean that day” and believed Slemmer had been talking about her and trying to steal her boyfriend. The savagery—described by investigators as “satanic”—left former Knoxville Police Chief Phil Keith saying three decades later that the images “will never be erased.” Pike kept a piece of her victim’s skull as a memento.

Colleen Slemmer was so much more than this horror. Born September 20, 1975, she would have turned 51 last month; her family marked the milestone without her. Her mother remembers a vibrant, generous “spark” who volunteered at the Special Olympics, helped children with special needs, babysat enthusiastically, and loved bowling, roller skating, and playing old games with family. A self-described “computer geek” and “good nerd,” the easygoing, quick-to-smile teen left her Florida home for Job Corps in Knoxville specifically to pursue the technology training unavailable closer to home. She was independent, driven, and nurturing—qualities forged partly in her mother’s daycare business. “Nobody remembers Colleen,” Martinez has said pointedly, lamenting how the killers dominate headlines while her daughter’s bright potential is overshadowed.

That imbalance fuels the family’s sharpest argument: true justice was never life behind bars for the ringleader of such calculated brutality. “She wanted to get justice,” Seeley explained of her grandmother’s three-decade fight. Prison for Pike was never enough; the family sought the sentence handed down in 1996. Pike’s survival and recovery have only compounded their pain, turning what should have been finality into fresh trauma. Meanwhile, accomplice Shipp serves life (ineligible for death due to age) with a parole hearing denied in 2025 and the next set for 2031 despite disciplinary issues. Peterson received probation after testifying. The disparities and delays underscore a system that, in the family’s view, protects perpetrators while victims’ families are left in limbo.

Investigators remain haunted. Families should not have to beg for accountability 31 years on. The botched execution—following last-minute appeals citing Pike’s troubled background—has shifted focus once more onto the killer’s suffering rather than Colleen’s unimaginable final moments or the life stolen from her. Martinez has fought for years simply to bury her daughter’s remains intact. She and her family now demand more than reviews and pauses: a competent path to carrying out the lawful sentence without further spectacle or delay.

The call “Justice for Colleen Slemmer” is not abstract. It is a mother’s unrelenting grief, a niece’s inherited loss, and a community’s reminder that victims’ voices must not be drowned out by sympathy for those who inflicted horrors. Colleen’s easy smile, her love of computers, her compᴀssion for the vulnerable—these are the details that should define the legacy. Until the state delivers the justice long promised, her family insists her soul cannot rest. Tennessee owes them, and Colleen, far more than another round of hearings.

As Pike recovers on death row and legal battles continue, the Slemmer family’s message is clear and urgent: remember the victim, honor the sentence, and end this cycle of delay. After 31 years of pain, “Justice for Colleen” must finally mean something real.