AN: This chapter is pretty graphic in terms of describing violence. I really didn't enjoy doing this to Isabel. It's not absolutely essential to read it to follow the story, so it's kinda optional.

Isabel opened her eyes slowly. It was dark around her, the only light coming from a couple of candles on a wooden fold out table in the corner of the room. After the initial relief of regaining consciousness the pain in her head soon flooded over her and she had the strongest desire to pass out again.

She couldn't remember much about the night before and she struggled to recount the events that had led her here. She had been angry with her cousins still and feeling sorry for herself. She was alone in the house again, on a Saturday night with no one to talk to, and even though she had done that for eight years, after one week of being with her cousins, she suddenly realised she missed them. She'd had a few drinks. Three, maybe four, in any case, she had been a little tipsy. The buzz only seemed to intensify her feelings and when she'd heard the knock on the door, she had rushed to it. A weight had lifted off her shoulders as she looked at Jack. At the time, it hadn't seemed at all odd that he didn't even mention the afternoon before, or even asked if Dean and Sam were around. In fact, it was almost like the events of the Thursday night hadn't even happened. Would she like to go out for a drink? He'd asked and even though she was confused at the way he was acting and something in the back of her mind was telling her that something was wrong about this, she decided to go. She was going to take her phone though, so that if anything went wrong she could quickly contact either the deputy of her cousins. They were walking to Jack's car when everything went black. That's where her memory stopped.

She looked around and the feeling of dread washed over her again. She could make out a metal table near her, surgical instruments were on it. They hardly looked sterile, and even if they were it would be the least of her worries. They looked painful. Next to the table was what looked to be some sort of gurney. She vaguely remembered being on it, strapped down, something had been injected in her arm. She turned her eyes to her arm, she couldn't feel it but it was above her for some reason. She looked up and gasped in dismay to find her wrists were tied together, the rope restraining them was hanging from a hook which was in turn hanging from the ceiling. She saw blood slowly dripping down from her wrists where the rope and tension had broken the fine skin there, and she felt a small measure of thankfulness that she couldn't feel it. There was a small red mark on the inside of her elbow and she realised that the memory of the gurney and injection were true. Oh God, what the hell had he injected into her? Is that why she couldn't remember anything? Is that what had knocked her out cold?

She wondered if she should look down at herself. After a few deep measured breaths and a lot of talking to herself she decided that if she wanted to get out of here, she would have to know what kind of damage had been done to her. The fact she couldn't feel anything other than the massive headache she was experiencing, was encouraging. She looked down slowly, not knowing if she would have preferred more light in the room or not. She realised she was almost naked. Her white tank top was still on, but it was inside out and her stomach churned with the realisation that it had been off at some point and whoever had her had put it back on her. She ventured a glance to her panties and sobbed when she discovered a similar situation. She retched but nothing came out, and all she could do was sob as she took in the bruises on her leg, unmistakeably shaped like fingertips, the scraped knees, and the swollen purple ankle. She was almost kneeling, except her knees couldn't reach the floor so her entire weight was held up by her arms. She tried setting her weight on her good leg, managing to stand briefly and relieving the pressure on her shoulders and wrists, but when she balanced on her other leg, the pain through her ankle shot right up her spine and she screamed in agony. Yep, it was either broken or sprained, she thought to herself through the haze. She screamed again as she fell, she'd been able to dislodge the rope from the hook when she stood, but now her knees bore the brunt of the fall, and she couldn't use her still numb arms to break her fall. She turned her head before hitting the ground, but the side of her skull made contact and she groaned in pain.

She had to get out of there. She needed her clothes, her phone. She needed to call Dean or Sam. Where were they? What time was it? Did they even know she was missing? She ran through the events of the fight again. Why did she have to kick them out? If only she wasn't so stubborn, if only she hadn't overreacted. If only she'd handled it differently.

As she ran through a thousand 'what ifs' in her mind, she froze when she heard footsteps approaching. A door behind her opened and light flooded the room. The voice came from behind her, and she recognised it as the deputy's. She cursed herself for her stupidity. It had been Stillwell all along and she had played right into it, telling him she lived alone, that she had no one, that she knew the girls, asking questions. She had stuck her nose in too much for his liking, of course he would have come for her too. She tried crawling away.

"Morning sweetheart" He said and she shivered "good to see you awake"

She remained silent, quietly sobbing until she saw the boots in front of her. She rolled onto her back and looked up.

"You sick bastard" She said hatefully through an incredibly dry throat.

"You've already called me that" He said casually, before kicking her. She curled up as she panted, waiting for the pain in her stomach to wane "Now, I'm sorry about the ankle darling, but couldn't risk you trying to escape now could I?"

"People will look for me" She said.

"Who? You're little boyfriend?" He asked laughing "I killed him. He won't be coming for you"

"No" She cried, tears now running down her eyes. Jack's face flashed before her and even though she didn't want to believe him, she knew he wasn't lying "No" She wondered about Sam and Dean but was afraid to ask. Were they OK?

The pressure was on her shoulders again as she started moving across the floor. She looked up. He was dragging her, from her tied wrists towards the gurney, she realised.

"We've wasted enough time already" He said "You've been out for a few hours"

She struggled as they reached it and he bent down, grabbing her around the waist and lifting her up onto it. With the room lit up the way it was now, she was able to make out a lot more detail, but her mind focused on one thing only. There was another gurney about five feet away from where they were, but what actually froze her blood was staring into the cold dead eyes of a naked Leslie DaSilva. She was bloody and pale and badly beaten, but she recognised her old college friend anyway. She screamed, renewing her struggles with greater frenzy. This was a nightmare, and she wished she could just go to sleep and never wake up.

"Let me go!" She screamed vehemently, already knowing that it would make absolutely no difference "Help me!"

"I'm afraid I'm not going to that darling" He said, strapping one of her hands down. She punched him with the other, and he was quick to retaliate, her face exploding with pain. He strapped her other hand down, rendering her immobile before picking up a syringe filled with a clear fluid she'd rather not find out about. She gasped in horror as the face of George Stillwell turned into Jack's "Does this help though?"

Her throat hurt, but she had nothing else to do but scream, hoping against hope that Sam and Dean were alright and would rescue her any minute, before she shared Leslie's fate. She felt a sting in her arm and her vision faded to black.