A/N: New chapter! Enjoy!

Out There

Chapter 13

For a couple of seconds, Gil Grissom thought the woman was going to faint. Together, he and Detective Lee moved to her. Sara stepped up, retrieved the phone from the ground; she had no idea what was happening but instinctively knew Pauline Phillips was having an emotional crisis.

The woman gasped and tried to form words, but no sound came. Somehow, between the two men, she staggered or was carried to a chair on the porch.

Sara entered the house, glancing around to see a neatly kept home, a small Christmas tree with blinking lights, and a few photographs of a young girl. She located the kitchen and a towel, filled a glass with water and carried it back to Pauline Phillips. In the few minutes it had taken for Sara to fetch water and a towel, Mrs. Phillips looked distressed but no longer shocked and she drank half of the water before she spoke.

"I guess I've been expecting you—or someone—just not today."

Detective Lee had kneeled in front of her. Grissom leaned against a porch post. When Sara looked at him, he made a slight shake of his head and a shoulder shrug. He knew nothing else. She moved to stand near him.

Lee asked, "Why did you expect us?" His voice was quiet, steady, with a slight note of compassion. "I know about your granddaughter."

Sara and Grissom shot quick glances at each other.

Pauline's hand shook as she swallowed the rest of the water. She said, "They moved—they moved to Las Vegas after it all happened—I fly there twice a year."

"How is your granddaughter doing? She was—she was six or seven when it happened?" Again, Lee's voice was kind, caring.

The older woman's eyes met Lee's for the first time as she said, "She is doing okay—she's nine now—she is a smart girl and she smiles and laughs now—has made friends." Tears rolled down her face.

"Why did you stay? Why not move with them?" The detective asked.

Pauline's eyes lifted and for the first time seemed to realize two other people were standing on her porch. She said, "I'm so rude—so sorry—we can move inside if you like where we can all have a seat. The fans keep it cool enough—and—and I think I need something stronger than water."

She led the way into the house, pointing to chairs and the sofa. "Sit and I'll get us drinks," she made a quiet laugh. "I don't guess you can have a beer—I have juice, water?" She continued into the kitchen, set up three glasses and a bottle of water which she delivered to the living room. She had a light beer tucked at her elbow.

Lee took one of the chairs and poured water into each glass; Sara and Grissom sat on the sofa. Detective Lee had learned the art of remaining quiet and did so while Pauline Phillips opened her beer and took a long swallow. She fiddled with a round coaster on the table in front of her before placing the bottle on it.

"I guess you've found them—washed up or some fishermen found them." She dropped her head; her hands came together in a tight grasp. "They deserved to die, Detective. Eight months for what he did to my granddaughter. She was a baby—a baby! We thought she was safe playing around here."

She reached for the beer and took another swallow. "That day, she was on her bike and I knew she'd been gone for a while but my husband was still at home—he'd had a stroke three months prior to that day—and Molly knew not to go far. After a while, I went looking for her—and that's when I found them." She wiped tears away. "I just walked into their backyard and he had her there."

Finally, Adrian Lee said, "There is no need—I've read the court record."

The woman nodded. "He got eight months—eight months for molesting a six year old child." Again, she wiped away tears. "You asked why I didn't move with them. My husband was here—we'd moved him to a nursing home where he died five months ago. I think—I think when he died—and I've got cancer now—I knew I had to do something. How could this man continue to live when he had damaged my family?"

Picking up the beer bottle again, she drained it empty and sat it on the table. Leaning back in the chair, a brief smile appeared. "I'm not sad I did it—I'm sad they were found and you found me." She glanced at her hands, saying, "I lost a fingernail when I was cleaning up—was that it? Or the knife? I never could find the knife after that day.

"They had a dog—friendly shaggy collie—and one day, that dog was howling in pain. I thought he'd got hurt and they weren't home, so I walked up their driveway. First time since court that I'd set eyes on them—I—I had been working in the yard and had an old dive knife with me. I guess I thought the dog might be caught in something and had the knife in my hand. I walked around that house for the first time since I'd found my granddaughter and those two men—Don and Earl—both nasty perverts—drunk and laughing—had cut that dog." She looked at Sara, paused a moment before continuing. "They had castrated the dog—there was so much blood. And when I appeared, one of them laughed at me, sneering, calling me names."

Pauline Phillips sat up straighter, pulled her feet together and looked into the detective's eyes as she said. "I put that dive knife in him so quickly he didn't have time to finish his laugh. The other one—I think it was Earl first—never knew what was happening. I turned around and put that knife in him four or five times. I was in a frenzy—I just kept stabbing until I knew they were dead and I knew they would never hurt another child or animal again."

When she stopped talking, she leaned back in her chair, turning her face toward the ceiling. The silence went on for several minutes before Detective Lee stood up.

As quietly and calmly as he'd spoken before, he said, "Mrs. Phillips, I'm going to have to arrest you, you know that."

The woman nodded.

Sara looked at Grissom thinking she wanted to ask a dozen questions.

Lee seemed to sense her unspoken questions. He said, "Why the barrels? Why not—something else? Why sink them in the sanctuary?"

A soft laugh came from Pauline Phillips. "They had those barrels in the back yard. I'm a swimmer, Detective. Even at my age, I have upper body strength—so I put them in the barrels and rolled them into their truck. The dog—well, I thought," she shrugged. "I cleaned up over there then drove to the fishing docks—I've known fishermen for years—so I asked around, said I needed those barrels to disappear and they could have the truck. Never asked what they did."

Detective Lee asked the question Sara wanted to ask. "What about the barrels? The yellow label on them—did you do that?"

"No, no, those two had done that. Or found them that way—some kind of windmill or fan—I just wanted to get rid of the mess over there. I knew I couldn't bury them—and they didn't deserve to be buried." She paused a moment; a brief smile appeared on her face as she said, "I should have chopped them up for shark bait—I just wanted them to disappear—didn't give it much thought."

With a slight nod, Detective Lee walked to the door and stepped outside to place a call.

Darkness had fallen and no one seemed to notice until Sara said, "Can I get you another drink, Mrs. Phillips?"

"No, no—I should get you something. It's dusk already." Mrs. Phillips stood. "I not sure what happens next—will I go to jail tonight?"

Gently, Sara said, "Detective Lee with decide that." She stood and placed the three glasses and the beer bottle on the tray. "Let me help you clean these."

Stepping outside, Grissom looked up, the last light of the day creating a painting of yellows and oranges any artist would be happy to claim. Lee had walked to the vehicle and was talking on the phone.

Grissom could patch together enough from what he'd heard to know there had been a great evil occurring in the abandoned house and, as he watched the sky deepened into darkness, he was struck by the inadequacies of justice to those most affected by cruelty.

Detective Lee pocketed his phone and walked back to the porch. He said, "It's up to me—I've decided she can remain at home and tomorrow I can come back with a couple of officers. She's not going anywhere."

"What's going to happen?"

"Who knows—if she has terminal cancer, nothing else matters." He looked at Grissom, his face inquiring, "Do you think she could have done this alone? Other than the fishermen? Killing two grown men?"

"'An angry woman is vindictive beyond measure'—yes, I think it is possible—and she will insist to her grave she doesn't remember or did not know who hauled those barrels out to sea."

A/N: Now you know most of the story behind the barrels! More to come-thank you for reading! And special thanks to those who review and comment!

Long live GSR!