"It Was Graveyard Love, Honey! Graveyard Love!!!!"

                               So said the Mama, or Eulala, or whatever her name was, when interviewed about the tragic circumstances surrounding the deaths of Addie Hall and Zack Bowen.  Which I learned about for the first time, via a recent broadcast of "Blood, Lies And Alibis!!!!!!!!!!!"

                                 Since it was founded, New Orleans has never been one to shirk from conjuring up the most Gothic tales.  But few are as Gothic as this.

                                Poor Addie and Zack.  They were a couple of lost souls.  Addie was almost, in a sense a Southern Fantine; she seemed to spring into New Orleans out of nowhere, with no history to speak of, though friends did learn she had been molested when young, and, as a young adult, had been in and out of a series  of abusive relationships.  Added to this was Addie being bi-polar, not always on her meds, which meant her moods were, at best, mercurial.

                                  But she seemed decent; she turned no tricks, like poor Fantine, and she was tougher and more resourceful, keeping a journal, writing poetry and songs, while eking out a living for herself, in the French Quarter, as a bartender.  And a damned good one!!!!!!!!!!!

                                   Which is how she met Zack, who began tending in the same bar.  He was from a respectable family, but was, himself, something of a lost soul, too.  Married while still a teen, he fathered a boy and girl, but his wife eventually left him, which put the pressure of alimony and child support on him while other kids were still contemplating losing their virginity.  He found a soul mate of sorts, in Addie's poetic soul, but her demons were such she wanted Zack all to herself, and on her terms.  Their romance blossomed, and they became a profiled area couple, when they remained in the Quarter, and survived, during Hurricane Katrina.  It was a wonderfully romantic, Bohemian story, and it was real.  But it was not to last.

                                 A failed marriage, children he felt responsible towards, but had no real relationship with, yet still had to pay child support for  by working several jobs, consumed him.  As well as did Addie's moods and emotional demands.  Added to which, Zack had a secret--ambivalent sexuality.  He was hot, and in a town where gay sex was as abundant, as, say New York, Zack, darlings, was quite a catch.  Hell, if I had been living there then, I might have had a go at him, myself!!!!!!!!!!   And Zack, of course, could never reconcile this, while Addie always sensed he was cheating on her.  If only she knew!!!!!!!!!!!!!

                                 After they became the post-Katrina media darlings, things started to fall apart.  Drugs and alcohol slowly came into the picture, which helped to fuel temperaments!!!!!!!!  But what really tipped things, I think, was the apartment situation.

                                  Attempting to save their relationship, the couple rented the apartment at 826 N. Rampart Street, setting up house, seeming to be happy.  But Addie, because of her illness and her past background, became suspicious and distrustful, and, behind Zack's back, she went to the landlord and signed the lease in her name only--giving her the right to kick Zack out, which she planned to do.

                                  But he found out, and along, with everything else, add on the trauma of serving in the Kosovo and Iraqi Wars (never mind surviving Katrina!!!!!) and you had a recipe for disaster.  Pushed over the edge, Zack strangled Addie, then blithely went to sleep, with her corpse beside him.  Going to work the next day, like nothing happened, he pondered what to do with the body.  The next night, he dismembered her body in the bathtub, freezing the torso like you would a rib roast,  baked her legs in a tin foil pan, and boiled her head, hands and feet in a large pot, laced with celery and carrots!!!!!!!!!!!!!

                                    Skiddle-ee bumbo. hot a pot, bubblin' sweet!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!

                                    Yet, he was not a cannibal.  When the autopsy was done on his body, not an ounce of consumed human flesh was found in his system.

                                     What Zack did was monstrous and unexplainable.  Addie did not deserve it.  Yet, despite his monstrous deeds, Zack had something of humanity still in him.  He could not live with the horror of what he had done to someone he loved, so, one day in October, 2006, he blew $1500 on booze, great food--no better city than New Orleans to do this, darlings!!!!--and strip clubs, before taking himself to the roof of  one of the French Quarter's most established hotels, (I'd like to think it was the Monteleone) and jumped off its roof.

                                      When the police found the battered body, they found this note in a back pocket:

                                                 "This was not accidental.  I had to take my own life to
                                                   pay for the one I took. If you send a patrol to 826 N.
                                                   Rampart, you will find the dismembered corpse of my
                                                   girl friend, Addie, in the oven, on the stove, and in the
                                                   fridge, along with full documentation on the both of us,
                                                   and a full, signed confession from myself."

                                       Poor Addie and Zack.  These two lost souls were, rather inevitably, consumed by the forces and circumstances around them.

                                        Perhaps both were like Fantine, after all.