An ex-wife of Devin Patrick Kelley, the Texas gunman who killed 26 people in a church, said Friday in her first interview since the massacre that she lived in constant fear of him, and more information is coming to light about his actions in the weeks leading up to the shooting. 
 
 Tessa Brennaman, 25, was Kelley's first wife, CBS News' Omar Villafranca reports. 
 
 "He just had a lot of demons or hatred inside of him," she told "Inside Edition." 
 
 Inside Edition via CBS News 
 
 Kelley pleaded guilty in 2013 to hitting, choking, kicking and pulling her hair. The then-23-year-old Air Force airman also admitted to fracturing the skull of her young son. On Friday, she described the marriage as filled with abuse, and said she was once threatened over a speeding ticket. 
 
 "And he had a gun in his holster right here and he took that gun out, and he put it to my template and he told me, 'Do you want to die? Do you want to die?'" Brennaman said. 
 
 The guilty plea earned Kelley a one-year sentence in a military prison, followed by a bad-conduct discharge. 
 
 She said he threatened to kill her and her whole family. 
 
 This week, the Air Force acknowledged that it failed to notify the FBI about the conviction, which would have barred Kelley from purchasing the firearms he used in the attack on the First Baptist Church in Sutherland Springs. 
 
 There will be a Sunday service of healing a block from the church at the local community center, and funerals have started for the 26 victims of the shooting. On Thursday, more than 500 people attended a private service at a San Antonio-area Air Force base for Scott and Karen Marshall, a husband and wife who both served in the military, said Randy Martin, spokesman for the 12th Flying Training Wing. 
 
 Eleven people remained hospitalized Friday with wounds from the shooting. 
 
 Less than a week before the Texas church massacre, Kelley showed up at a festival dressed in black and acted so strangely that people kept a close eye on him, two longtime parishioners said Friday. 
 
 Kelley "was completely distant and way out in thought," recalled Judy Green. She and her husband said Kelley often exhibited troubling behavior. 
 
 At the fall festival held on Halloween night at the First Baptist Church, Kelley "didn't even blink -- he just stared," she said. 
 
 Rod Green, a former law enforcement officer in Montana, said when he saw Kelley arrive in all black, he examined him closely to make sure he was not carrying a gun. The Greens both have licenses to carry handguns, and they are friends with Kelley's in-laws. 
 
 If Kelley had been carrying a weapon, Green said, he would have escorted him away because of all the children there. Judy Green said she positioned herself to keep an eye on Kelley at all times. 
 
 "There was something wrong with the picture," she said. "I was thinking forward, and that was what was scaring me." 
 
 At a Christmas dinner one year, Kelley had "bragged about being armed," Rod Green said. 
 
 Wilson County Sheriff Joe Tackitt has said the church pastor saw Kelley in the crowd at the festival but that the pastor did not witness any behavior that raised alarms. 
 
 Investigators have said Sunday's shooting appeared to stem from a domestic dispute involving Kelley and his mother-in-law, and that he had sent threatening messages to her. The mother-in-law sometimes attended services at the church but was not present on Sunday. Kelley died of what appeared to be a self-inflicted gunshot wound after the massacre. 
 
 The Greens run a food pantry that offered this stricken Texas community another chance to mourn Friday as the charity resumed its weekly operations five days after the massacre at the church next door. 
 
 People crowded inside the By His Grace pantry, tearfully hugging and filling bags with donated bakery goods, groceries and used clothing. 
 
 The pantry's director, Lula White, was among those killed. White was also the 71-year-old grandmother of the gunman's wife. 
 
 As 68-year-old Brandy Johnson walked in, she flinched and she said she could "see Lu at the desk." White "had a heart as big as Texas," she said. 
 
 The Greens have operated the pantry for 11 years. She said she has slept little since Sunday, waking up screaming from nightmares. The couple, who were married at the church, were not at the service but later watched as worshippers were carried out in body bags. 
 
 "It is fresh in my mind. I see it all -- just over and over and over," Judy Green said. 
 
 Deana Cassel, who is 52 and a lung cancer patient, wiped away tears as she helped straighten piles of used clothing. She said volunteering at the pantry had given her a sense of purpose and a way to channel her grief about losing friends in the shooting. 
 
 "There's a lot of poverty in this area, but people don't only come here for something to eat. These people make them think they have someone in their life," she said, gesturing toward the Greens. 
 
 Law enforcement officials have reopened the intersection where the First Baptist Church stands, but black mesh material was tied to the chain-link fence surrounding it. With the bullet-ridden church door open, a tall wooden cross could be seen at the altar. 
 
 At annual Veterans Day observances Saturday, the church victims with military backgrounds will receive a full military salute on the grounds of the community hall, said Alice Garcia, president of the unincorporated town's community association. 
 
 "Everyone in the community is doing what they can, but honestly everyone feels so helpless," 20-year-old Karyssa Calbert of neighboring Floresville, Texas, said at the hall. 
 
 Before the church is demolished, it will serve as a temporary memorial, said Rod Green, who also serves as the grounds steward for the church. 
 
 The building will be scrubbed down and whitewashed, and chairs will be placed inside -- one to commemorate each of the dead. Late Friday afternoon, people in dust suits could be seen scrubbing the walkway leading to the front door. 
 
 Services will never take place there again, Rod Green said, explaining that the church plans to build a new structure on property it owns elsewhere. Services will be held Sunday at a nearby baseball field. 
 
 Pastor Frank Pomeroy told leaders of the Southern Baptist Convention earlier this week that it would be too painful to continue using First Baptist Church as a place of worship. ||||| “The Air Force tried to give him chances but he was just problem after problem after problem,” said Jessika Edwards, a former Air Force staff sergeant who worked with Mr. Kelley in 2011, near the end of his career. 
 
 “He was a dude on the edge,” Ms. Edwards added, noting that he would appear at informal squadron social functions in all black and a black trench coat. “This is not just in hindsight. He scared me at the time.” 
 
 Even after he left the military, he contacted her on Facebook with disturbing posts about his obsession with Dylann S. Roof, the Charleston, S.C., mass murderer, and his target practices using dogs ordered online. 
 
 Ms. Edwards said the military had tried counseling and tough love, but nothing seemed to work. When punished for poor performance, Mr. Kelley would cry, scream and shake with rage, vowing to kill his superiors, she recalled. His temper was so unsettling that she warned others in the squadron to go easy on him or he was likely to come back and “shoot up the place.” 
 
 The Air Force, like the civilian world, is often ill-equipped to intervene before violence occurs. Though Mr. Kelley’s behavior raised flags, commanders say they have limited options until a crime is committed. Even then, the priority is more often on getting problem troops out of the military, giving little thought to the possible impact on society. After facing intense criticism for its failure to report Mr. Kelley, the Air Force has opened an investigation into the case and many questions remain about what more it could have done. 
 
 For Mr. Kelley, the military was likely an encouraging option at first. His family had a tradition of going to Texas A&M University: His grandfather, father and both siblings became Aggies. But growing up in New Braunfels, Tex., Mr. Kelley did not get the grades to attend one of the state’s top schools. Besides earning mostly C’s, he had amassed at least seven suspensions for insubordination, profanity, dishonesty and drugs, according to school records. 
 
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 The Air Force offered him a clean slate and the chance to prove himself. He enlisted right after high school in 2009. Based on above-average aptitude test scores, he was picked to become a fusion analyst — an intelligence specialist trained to interpret and communicate the latest information on enemy tactics. It promised a clear career path and a top-secret clearance. 
 
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 In spring 2010, after two months of basic training, he arrived at Goodfellow Air Force Base near San Angelo, Tex., for the rigorous six-month intelligence technical school. Graduating required passing a polygraph test and a background check to get a security clearance. 
 
 Mr. Kelley washed out before graduation. 
 
 The Air Force did not provide details on whether Mr. Kelley passed the required polygraph, which typically scrutinizes mental health, drug use, family issues and disruptive behavior. A military official briefed on Mr. Kelley’s Air Force record said only that he was cut from the school for “academic reasons.” 
 
 Several airmen who went through school with Mr. Kelley said in a closed Facebook group viewed by The New York Times that he did not last long. Some remembered him being there only a few weeks. 
 
 “I didn’t even realize he was in for as long as he was,” one of them said. “I thought he was discharged in tech school, let alone retrained into a different career field.” 
 
 Mr. Kelley’s next assignment was decidedly less demanding. Records show the Air Force made him a traffic management apprentice, a job that includes moving people and freight, and requires a minimal aptitude score. Still, he struggled. 
 
 He was sent in 2011 to Holloman Air Force Base in New Mexico and assigned to the 49th Logistics Readiness Squadron. Six days before he arrived, he had married 19-year-old Tessa Loge from his hometown — a move that allowed his new wife and her baby from another relationship to move into base housing with him, and gave him increased pay because he had dependents. 
 
 At the base, Mr. Kelley worked in the receiving department, entering information on incoming supplies into a computer. He was smart enough, said Ms. Edwards, who worked in the same office, but he and his new wife fought constantly and were being investigated by local child protective services for child abuse. His wife, who later divorced him, declined to comment. 
 
 Mr. Kelley was so emotionally unstable and unfocused, Ms. Edwards said, that he often would not do his work. 
 
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 As punishment, superiors would give Mr. Kelley menial tasks, such as mopping or scrubbing toilets, which would send him into a rage, Ms. Edwards said. “He would get so upset,” she said, “and just keep saying, ‘I want to kill them.’” 
 
 He was formally disciplined multiple times, she said, including for sneaking a gun onto the base in his car. 
 
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 The Air Force confirmed that Ms. Edwards served in the same squadron as Mr. Kelley, and that evaluations show he performed poorly. 
 
 The squadron wrote up the airman for every infraction, Ms. Edwards said, laying a paper trail that would allow the Air Force to discharge him for poor performance. Before it could do that, in April 2012, Mr. Kelley was arrested and detained after he pointed a gun at his wife, hitting and choking her, and hit his baby stepson, fracturing his skull. 
 
 His wife filed for divorce that year. 
 
 While Mr. Kelley awaited court-martial, the Air Force sent him to a civilian psychiatric hospital in Santa Teresa, N.M., where, according to local emergency dispatch records, he was given medication for depression, anxiety and attention deficit hyperactivity disorder, and was considered a “high-risk patient.” 
 
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 On the night of June 7, 2012, Mr. Kelley escaped, made his way 12 miles south in the desert night to the El Paso bus station and bought a ticket home. 
 
 His counselor at the hospital called the police, according to a police report, warning that Mr. Kelley had talked about killing his chain of command in the Air Force and told other patients he had recently bought guns online. 
 
 Mr. Kelley was quickly caught and kept in pretrial confinement before his court-martial because his commanders were concerned about the threats, said Don Christensen, a retired colonel who at the time was the Air Force’s chief prosecutor. He pleaded guilty to two counts of assault and in November 2012 was sentenced to 12 months in confinement — a relatively light sentence. 
 
 “A serious injury to a child is worth more than a year in confinement,” said Mr. Christensen, who is now president of Protect Our Defenders, an advocacy group for victims of sexual assault and domestic violence in the military. 
 
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 Mr. Christensen said that during his military career he had seen service members receive the same punishment Mr. Kelley got for merely abusing over-the-counter cough medicine. 
 
 The Air Force should have entered Mr. Kelley’s name into federal databases that bar convicted felons from buying firearms — but did not. That mistake allowed him to buy several guns over the next few years. 
 
 Air Force officials apologized last week after admitting that in recent years an unknown number of violent criminals were never registered with the system. “We’re looking at all of our databases,” the Air Force secretary, Heather Wilson, said. 
 
 After his guilty plea, Mr. Kelley served just eight months in military prison. In June 2013 he was let out, having been knocked down to the lowest possible rank and given a bad conduct discharge that barred him from nearly all veterans benefits, including mental health treatment. 
 
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 He went back to New Braunfels. Though his parents owned a sprawling ranch house with a patio and pool, he moved into their barn. He married again in 2014, to 19-year-old Danielle Shields. 
 
 “That’s where things started to get weird,” said Ms. Edwards, who reconnected with Mr. Kelley around that time when he called asking for a job reference. They started chatting occasionally on Facebook, she said, and his posts grew gradually more disturbing until she finally stopped communicating with him this year. 
 
 At first, Mr. Kelley shared photos of his children and small updates, she said. Then he started complaining about his new wife, and about how his family was trying to get him to take medication. He said he hated his wife, but feared she would leave and take the children, Ms. Edwards said. 
 
 Law enforcement officials said their rocky relationship may have contributed to the shooting on Sunday. 
 
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 A friend of Mr. Kelley’s mother-in-law, Todd Feltner, said on Friday that the marriage was strained because “Devin was abusing her physically, verbally and mentally.” He added that the mother-in-law told him that Mr. Kelley had threatened her family, too: “He was telling her ‘that he was going to get them.’” 
 
 Soon, Mr. Kelley’s Facebook conversations turned dark. He started sending Ms. Edwards photos of weapons he had bought and descriptions of killing animals. At first, she brushed it off as the enthusiasm of a hunter in the Texas hill country. But then, she said, he became obsessed with news of Mr. Roof, the 21-year-old who killed nine people in a church in South Carolina in 2015. 
 
 “He was excited about it. He went on and on and on about it, saying ‘Isn’t it cool? Isn’t it cool?’ Have you watched the videos?’” Ms. Edwards said. She said she told Mr. Kelley that he was not acting normal and needed help. 
 
 “He told me he would never have the nerve to kill people, he only killed animals,” she said. 
 
 In 2016 he sent her photos of a new military-style rifle he was building, one that she said looked like the rifle the authorities said he used in the church shooting. 
 
 This spring, Mr. Kelley’s comments became so disturbing that she unfriended him — something a number of his other friends also said they did. 
 
 The breaking point came when he told her he was buying dogs online and using them as target practice. “I told him this was not normal, and he needed the kind of help I could not give him,” Ms. Edwards said. “Before I unfriended him, I gave him my number. I told him, ‘If you ever are thinking about hurting yourself or someone else, just call.’” 
 
 He never called. 
 
 Now she, like many others in his path, says she cannot help but blame herself for not acting when she saw signs of trouble. 
 
 On Sunday, she was washing dishes at home when another member of their old squadron texted her. “The shooter, it’s Kelley,” the text said. 
 
 She dropped the glass in her hands and started crying.
– "He just had a lot of demons or hatred inside of him," Tessa Brennaman tells CBS News regarding her ex-husband, Devin Kelley, who killed 26 people in a Texas church last Sunday. Brennaman gave her first interview since the shooting Friday. The New York Times reports Brennaman was 19-year-old Tessa Loge when she married Kelley in 2011. She tells CBS their marriage was filled with abuse and she was afraid of him. She says he threatened to kill her and her family. After she got a speeding ticket in 2012, Brennaman says Kelley put a gun "to my temple and told me, 'Do you want to die?'" He hit her and fractured the skull of her baby. Kelley would later plead guilty and spend a year in a military prison. Brennaman would file for divorce. Brennaman wasn't the only person afraid of Kelley. Jessika Edwards was a staff sergeant in the Air Force and worked with Kelley in 2011. She tells the Times he was "a dude on the edge." "This is not just in hindsight," Edwards says. "He scared me at the time." She says Kelley would be punished by superiors for not doing his work by being made to clean toilets or mop. "He would get so upset ... and just keep saying, 'I want to kill them,'" she says. Edwards says she eventually told others not to be so hard on Kelley or he would probably "shoot up the place." Things got even more upsetting after Kelley left the Air Force. Edwards says he would message her on Facebook about using dogs for target practice or about how "cool" what Dylann Roof did was. Roof fatally shot nine people in a church in South Carolina.