Sara tried to remove herself from his grip, but her strength waned as he pulled himself fully against her.

She swallowed the hiss in reaction to the pressure of his grasp across the cuts on her abdomen which was soon replaced by the pain of his chest pressing against the wounds on her back.

"Philip…please…" she tried, but it soon became apparent that Philip was no longer listening to her as he just began rambling.

"You're safe now, honey…I have you…I made sure no one is going to hurt you again," he ranted softly as his lips made small indents into her mussed hair.

"Philip," Sara spoke against the lump that had formed in her throat, "please…tell me what happened…what did you do?" she begged as her brain fought to distinguish between the images that flashed before her.

"I killed him," Philip stated without emotion, a fact that sent chills down her spine.

"Who-o-o-o…Philip, who are you talking about?" she asked weakly, blinking back the tears that her anxiety had created.

"That bastard," he spoke again as his kisses were becoming more amorous.

"Philip," she tried again as her attempts to extricate herself from his grasp increased, "I don't understand. Please…" she spoke more forcefully in an attempt to stop his unwanted attentions.

When she was suddenly flung onto her back, she no longer could stifle the painful moan from her injured back slamming onto the mattress.

It was only when she saw his face looming over her that Sara realized the eyes of her "savior" looked decidedly unstable.

"He never cared for you, Sarabelle…he used you before, and he thought he had the right to just take something you should never have given to him," he chided, as if scolding a small child.

"Ken?…Philip, you killed Ken Fuller?" she gasped in disbelief.

Smiling brightly, his candor was unnerving her.

"Yes…he was hurting you…I told him a long time ago that if he ever came near you again, I'd kill him. So, I did."

His smile remained bright despite the look of horror on Sara's face.

She wasn't sure she could live with the knowledge that she was the reason a man was dead.

"Grissom," Sara suddenly asked, her eyes flying to his almost angrily, "and what did you do with Grissom?"

Philip's laugh echoed across his apartment.

"Oh, that was all Ken's doing. You don't have to worry any longer, Sara. He got what was coming to him."

Sara swore and then leveled Philip with a glare.

"So he's…dead," she could barely make out the words.

"No…but I'm sure the authorities will take care of that sooner or later," he smirked, but then his eyebrows crunched in confusion at her silence.

"The bastard is dead…Grissom's prints are on the gun…you don't see, do you, Sarabelle?...It's over…we can start again, the way it was always supposed to be…" he smiled and caught her off-guard as his body covered hers in a clear indication of his intentions.

"Stop…Philip…stop!" she finally got out as she tossed her head in a futile attempt to reject his attentions.

"Sarabelle," Philip smiled and rolled off her, bringing her some momentary relief.

"You'll see, honey…this will all work out…"

As he rose from the bed, Sara muffled another cry as her beaten body protested her movements as she curled herself into a protective ball.

"Philip…I need help…medical help…please…" she tried, but Philip was already spouting off proudly on his accomplished deeds.

"It was so easy, really," he spoke as he turned away from her to start the tea kettle, apparently oblivious to her pleas.

"I was just walking around campus, I'd had enough of that witch –" his voice revealed his anger at the memory, but then he sighed and started in a happier tone, "and just as I thought I'd be the loser in their games once again –" his chuckle now held a demonic quality, "there was my chance to really even the score…"

His voice trailed off as he stood almost immobile, and Sara feared he was lost in his thoughts as the gas fumes continued to rise from the unlit burner.

"Philip," she called out several times before his head snapped to attention and he continued to complete his actions.

He chuckled softly and to himself he muttered something before Sara tried to connect with him again.

"Oh, Sara…I really wish I could see her face when she finds out her "brother dearest" is lying stone cold dead on a slab in the morgue," Philip continued heedless to her attempts to speak.

Recalling the ordeal she herself had endured when faced with the sight of her father's bloody corpse lying inches away from her mute form, Sara bristled before she spoke, "It's a horrible thing, Philip."

He reeled around swiftly, his eyes still blazing with anger.

"You can't feel sorry for her, Sara," his words commanding.

"But I do-" she retorted, only to be interrupted by his rage.

"You can't…no!... not after what she's done to you!"

Seeing this as a chance to clear her confusion over the events of the past night, Sara spoke softly, "Heather has done nothing to me, Philip," her face stoic even as her words rang doubtful even to her own ears.

"Nothing!" Philip shouted, his movements menacing as he paced back and forth before her bed before stopping only inches before her.

"She killed your child, Sara!"

Silence reigned as the kettle's whistle was the only sound in the apartment.

The noise was irritating, but neither occupant was aware of the background sound as Philip glared and Sara tried to comprehend what he had just said.

Shaking her head to clear it, Philip took the movement to mean she was disavowing his revelation.

"She came to me, Sara. I saw her approaching my door – god, she looked so much like you," he began as Philip once again seemed lost in his thoughts.

The kettle was screaming, and the action finally infiltrated his stupor.

Turning quickly, he blindly removed the offending object from the stove but did not turn to face the shocked woman on the bed.

"I looked out the window at the hotel, and I saw you…well, her…coming from the street…you were wearing your CSI vest and hat, your hair in a ponytail – the way I loved to see it…you had on your glasses…"

He turned to watch Sara's reaction, but she was struck mute as her mind raced to piece together the evidence even as her injuries distracted her.

"I waited for the knock before whipping open the door…" his smile failed much as Sara supposed it did on that fateful day.

"She was in Vegas," Sara mused, disbelieving that the daughter with whom she had tried years ago to connect was forever taken away without meeting.

"She worked with you every day," Philip stated bluntly, his mental state disavowing the cruelty of the admission.

Sara's eyes closed against the facts presented. Surely Philip was teetering on the edge of a breakdown. How could this be real?

"She came to me, her intentions clear," his voice had softened, some aspect of his professional self emerging from somewhere deep inside of his tortured soul.

Philip looked at Sara sorrowfully, almost pleading for understanding.

"I told her it would never happen between us…but she said she had fallen in love with me...she said she had always wanted some to love her - and that Heather had told her how I was already in love…with you…and…so she thought if she could just get rid of you, she could take your place…and then I would love her –"

Sara was shaking her head in disbelief. Surely this could not be happening.

"Heather…Heather told her?...Who, dammit! Who wanted to get rid of me, take my place?" she was shaking as a myriad of emotions wracked her tired form.

Philip continued as if Sara had not spoken.

"She was so angry, Sara…I told her I understood…what it was like…to love someone and to not be able to get close enough to get them to really see you…" his voice waned as his attention was once again.

The CSI turned on her interrogation skills as she pressed, "Who did that to you, Philip? Who pretended to be me?"

Shaking his head, a tear rolled down his cheek as Philip sat heavily on the bed.

"She left me, angry beyond belief…I watched her leave the hotel and disappear among the crowd as night was falling…it was the last time I saw her…"

Turning to Sara, Philip mourned, "She looked so much like you, Sara…she must have worn a wig under the cap, but god she looked so much like you…"

Sighing, he dropped his head and scrubbed his face with both hands before raking them through his hair.

"I know it was Heather, Sara. She must have hired someone to go after you. They wouldn't have known the difference, Sara…if you had seen her," he mourned as Sara's eyes widened at the picture that was clearing in her mind.

"Heather? Hired a hitman…to kill me?" she asked incredulously.

She had known Heather held her in little regard, but this was insane….criminally insane.

"No. NO, Philip. You're mistaken," she argued, but Philip moved close enough to take her hand.

"Sara-"

"NO, Philip! I mean…why would she want that? Why would she DO that?" Sara was almost yelling now, the possibility of this conjecture being true making her heart pound wildly.

"Because Natalie failed," he answered calmly, as if the logic of the response was inescapable.

"Natalie!" Sara gasped, her breath increasing as even the mention of her name now brought the terror of the experience flashing through her weakened form.

"Philip…what are you talking about?" she pounded weakly on his chest with a raised hand, adamantly defiant that he was lying about Heather – for the alternative was too horrible to comprehend.

"They killed her, Sara…Heather wanted you dead, but Tessa was killed instead… you really can't blame them…they couldn't know…she looked so-"

Philip stopped talking as Sara jerked away from him and forced herself to stand, weakly supported by the opposite side of the bed.

"You said it was my…daughter…you said Tessa was killed…you…you're saying…Tessa…no…NO!" Sara screamed angrily as she covered her face with her hands, sure that this whole nightmare was some bizarre nightmare.

"HOW can you know this? HOW, Philip?" Sara demanded, not sure what was real and searching for something concrete to focus on.

"I told you, Sarabelle…I've kept my eye on her for years…used my influence to be sure she finally was placed with the Dells…that's where she met Natalie…she really watched out for Tessa…she was just a thirteen when she was moved there…Natalie seemed to do better under Ernie's attention…"

Philip smiled in memory.

"He was an amazing foster father, Sarabelle. He could turn a kid around…" his voice softened at the memory.

"Even though I was only there a while, he never forgot my birthday…sent a card or a note almost every holiday," beamed Philip.

"Natalie was doing great with the Dells, and she really took Tessa under her wing," he noted smiling at some personal memory.

His face morphed to a scowl as he continued, "When Mom Dell died, Ernie couldn't face the loss…she was such an important person…to all of us…Natalie suffered the loss more personally than the rest, I guess…Tessa tried everything to help Natalie, but she was closing herself off again."

He stood and began pacing again, "And that's how Heather used her wiles to get Ernie under her control…he was so lonely, the poor guy…just looking for some relief from the grief."

Spinning around her moved towards Sara pleading, "Don't you see? When she found out about the fosters, she got close to Ernie, visited him at the house, knew just how to get Natalie to open up to her…you know, like Mom used to do…stroked her ego, made her feel like Natalie was her "special girl"…"

Sneering at his contempt for his sister, he continued, "And when she realized something she wanted was being denied her, that nothing she tried was working, she used those girls like she used everyone unfortunate enough to cross her path…and she hired those goons to help them out in the desert…"

Sara heart stopped as she sat heavily on the bed. Death would be welcome rather than endure the answers she knew would be forthcoming.

"So…you are standing there, telling me, that…that Natalie did not act alone."

Standing weakly, she turned to protest the inescapable conclusion that was staring her in the face.

"You are saying…that Heather…plotted my death?...for what purpose, Philip? What possible reason would Heather have for wanting me dead?" she almost pleaded, as her own mind was conjuring up several responses to that query.

"Very simply, Sara…Grissom."