R.I.P.

"What good is it now?" my friend rhetorically asked referring to a police car stationed round-the-clock outside her slain girlfriend's home.

My girlfriend, C., called me yesterday in a panic. A friend whom she had known for 10 years had just been murdered by her ex-boyfriend. And then he shot himself.

He had been distraught over their cancelled wedding and the fact that his woman, his girl had begun dating someone else. The slain woman, J., had begun filling out piles of police reports that her car had mysteriously been tampered with (sugar in the gas tank, slashed tires) and although she was certain it was this ex, the police couldn't do anything unless she saw him commit the acts.

He compromised her cell/e-mail accounts and sent messages to all her co-workers, family and friends--as if she wrote them--discussing sordid details of her new romance. It culminated in a threatening text message sent 12 days ago in which he told her and her family to watch out since he had nothing to lose.

Five gunshots later, two people are dead.

"She took in strays. He was just one of those strays," said my friend over another needed glass of wine referring to J.'s big heart and seven cats and two dogs--all animals she rescued.

This man, her one-time fiancee, had lived the life of a stray and J. seemingly was one of the few people in this world who showed him kindness, gave him a home and shared a slice of her sunshine.

So he shot her multiple times in repayment. In her own home with her beloved adopted strays hiding throughout the house, strays who will be euthanized in five days if no one takes pity and offers them another loving home.

The blame game has begun. The authorities are covertly stating it was her fault since she didn't pursue a two-year Order of Protection; her family and friends feel differently. In the end, J. lays in wait at the coroner's office. They need to take an X-ray of her corpse to locate the fourth bullet.

The house bears yellow tape marking off the crime scene. A police officer sits inside a squad car 24/7 waiting outside protecting a lifeless empty house. Funeral arrangements are being shuffled together. Alliances are being formed and resentments are festering amid the survivors. Guilt is being passed around like a bread basket at a banquet.

Soon, J. will be laid to rest and the tape will be ripped off. The house will be sold. Neighbors will stop whispering and begin sleeping normally. The services will be over, the mourners gone home.

And we'll all breath a little easier knowing that this ugliness is behind us now. We'll slink back into our Monday morning routines, cursing rush hour, packing lunches, managing grocery lists and scheduling carpools.

Until the next woman is murdered by someone who loves her.

(The one thing I would like to do is find homes or a no-kill shelter to take in J.'s animals whom she so loved before their expiration date at the (Illinois) McHenry County Animal Control. I will begin making calls tomorrow. If any one knows of any organizations who would be willing to take these babies in, please please let me know. Thank you.)

@L'uragana