Obligatory Disclaimer: Dark Horse and Mr. Mignola own all, save for my own original characters. A special thank you to Guillermo del Toro for bringing this wonderful character to my attention.

Torie was fuming.

She had told her captors over ten minutes ago that she needed to relieve herself. Politely even. But aside from a finger raised in acknowledgment that they would get to her in a minute, the group was heavily engaged in conversation on the far side of the room. And from the sound of their rapidly escalating voices, Torie mused that they wouldn't get to her for quite some time.

Her captors, a group of men hiding behind ski masks – and Torie was using the term 'men' loosely – who looked more scared of their captive than cold-blooded killers should, were crammed around a small card table, talking about where to dump her body if it came down to it. Some wanted to leave her in one of the rooms in the abandoned club. Another wanted to toss her in the ocean and have the tide carry her out. And yet another wanted to find a pig farm.

It was still scary to hear, terrifying even, but was almost getting to the point of being boring. Every day they talked about it – in case Hellboy didn't show up. There was never talk for when he did appear – only how to dispose of Torie when Hellboy failed her.

Sighing in exasperation, Torie flopped back on the pile of old mattresses and grimaced. Her left ankle was shackled to a long chain that was bolted to the building's foundation. The metal cuff was starting to dig into her skin despite Torie's attempts to keep her sock between the two. The damp air wasn't helping any and if Torie wasn't careful, the irritation might turn into a full blown infection.

The air was more humid than usual. Rain was trickling through broken windows, despite them being stuffed with newspapers, and was seeping through cracks in the walls. The blanket she had been given was soaked. Although, she mused, maybe it was close enough to being washed that it might smell a little less putrid. Or maybe it'll just smell a bit more moldy. Yea.

No doubt about it, Torie was miserable.

It had taken Torie several days to figure out that she was being held in the basement of an old dance club. Twice she had been taken upstairs, but vandals had gutted the upstairs so badly that it took multiple reflections upon the crumbling building interior to figure out what it was. But the deteriorating bar and fallen dance stage finally made sense when Torie glimpsed the remains of a broken disco ball.

But once Torie realized where she was, the basement became even more confusing. There was a central room once you came down the stairs, with small satellite rooms framing the perimeter. Contraptions that might be construed as of being of a… violent manner littered the large room. Benches, covered by weather-beaten leather, of various sizes and heights. Large wooden X's with cuffs at each point. Metal cages. Adjustable height stocks and pillories. A dining room sized table with leg and ankle restraints. A whipping post. Manacles attached to the ceiling and wall at various heights and locations.

Torie rolled her eyes when she figured it out. She was being held in a play dungeon.

It was bad enough that she was being held hostage over something that, if they would listen to her, was actually a moot point. They had the totem and could keep it, for all Torie cared. There was no need for all this silliness and violence.

The violence.

Torie refused to think about the fact that her captors had murdered her parents – and had tried to do the same thing to her.

Instead, Torie went towards the safest source of self-pity – the fact that she was laying on mattresses that were never really been slept on in the literal sense of the word and was tethered by a restraint that others got pleasure out of in its former life. Thinking about how disgusting it was that items that had seen more bodily fluids than her mind could comprehend was infinitely easier than thinking about her own mortality.

Looking up from the worn-out floral design on the mattress, Torie let her gaze travel around the room before setting back on the table in the far corner of the room. Despite the fact she was tethered to the wall, the group of men glanced at her more often than not, as if making sure that Torie wasn't going to shanghai them somehow.

If I could, I would. But since I can't, I'm just going to lay here like a good girl and pray that they come to their senses, keep the totem and let me go. Now, maybe I can get something to eat soon so I can try and pass the time.

For people who were planning on killing her, they fed her well, Torie had to give them that. But it was always the same damn thing. Sweet and sour chicken from a local Chinese take-out place for every meal. She had requested Beef Fried Rice once and her kidnappers just looked at her like she was an idiot. Three meals a day, all the same meal. Torie knew it was their way of making the days bleed into one another. No change in meal made it difficult to tally the number of days she had been held.

Her bladder not-so-subtly reminded Torie of her previous appeal.

"I have to go to the bathroom," she repeated to her captors, this time her voice slightly louder.

The five men all looked at one another. Each time Torie made a request, there was a group discussion as whether to grant it or not. She was grateful that they understood English, but their enunciation of the language showed that they were more comfortable speaking in a different tongue. "You went two hours ago," was the exasperated reply.

Torie shrugged her shoulders and smiled blindingly. "Small bladder. Blame my family genetics. I was told that my great-grandmother Gaffney, who came across the Atlantic during the Great Potato Famine with only three dollars to her name –."

"Enough already! No more stories!" One of the men launched from his chair and angrily strode over to Torie. With a flick of the wrist, he freed her ankle from its manacle and roughly pulled Torie to her feet.

Torie fought the urge to smirk. For hours she spoke tales of her family and her personal exploits to the men. At first, it was in an effort to gain the sympathy of her kidnappers. But as time wore on, Torie realized that it annoyed them to no end, but they seemed unsure of how to stop her. Just when it seemed like they reached their breaking point, Torie would instantly shut up.

As they climbed the steps to the club, large wrought iron gates twisted into the shape of soaring wings greeted them at the top of the staircase. Every time she went through them, which was each time she needed to relieve herself, Torie felt an icy shiver of fear dance down her spine. The creator of the gate had succeeded in creating great atmosphere – Torie thought they were the most creepy and foreboding artwork she had ever laid her eyes upon.

"Afraid, little one?" her captor asked, his tone mocking.

"Of course. Only a fool or a liar would say otherwise. Besides… that's what you all want." The insolent tone of Torie's voice showed that she wasn't completely cowed despite what she said.

But if the man grasping her elbow noticed the insubordination in Torie's voice, he chose to ignore it. In fact, Torie's captor nodded thoughtfully. It was obvious that he was pleased with his ward's answer.

As they passed through the gates, Torie remembered her high school literature class. "Abandon hope all ye who enter here," she muttered under her breath. Then she sighed, for Torie was starting to become less and less hopeful that Hellboy would come storming in to her rescue as each moment slid into the next. For all Torie knew, he was super pissed that she went outside to get a breath of fresh air. Not that she could blame him – it was obviously the dumbest thing she could have done if one took in her current situation.

"What? I didn't quite hear you. Care to… repeat yourself?" The words were hissed into Torie's ear as her neck was bathed in warm breath. The timbre was pure venom causing the blood in Torie's veins to freeze as a chill worked its way up her body, starting at her feet and finishing at the ends of her hair. Her breath caught in her chest as her mouth went dry. Did she push him too far?

Rolling her shoulders back in feigned fortitude, Torie raised a brow and smiled, despite feeling her bottom lip tremble slightly. "I was just remembering my Dante… and quoting the most popular misquotation from his Divine Comedy – 'Abandon hope all ye who enter here.' Supposedly written on the gates to Hell."

To her infinite surprise, Torie's captor chuckled mirthlessly before he began to recite:

"Through me you pass into the city of woe:
Through me you pass into eternal pain:
Through me among the people lost for aye.

"Justice the founder of my fabric mov'd:
To rear me was the task of power divine,
Supremest wisdom, and primeval love.

"Before me things create were none, save things
Eternal, and eternal I endure.
All hope abandon ye who enter here.

"Such characters in color dim I mark'd
Over a portal's lofty arch inscrib'd:
Whereat I thus: Master, these words import."

Dumbstruck, Torie stopped in her tracks, completely oblivious to the urgent tugging on her elbow. She wasn't sure if it was a relief or more nerve-wracking that one – or more – of her kidnappers were well educated. "You know that," Torie breathed. It was neither a statement nor a question, but rather both.

It was difficult to ascertain what his reaction was behind the ski mask, but the snort of contempt gave Torie a good idea. "You sound surprised. Do you really expect us to be uneducated oafs? We thought it some poetic justice that your Hellboy would dare descend into the Inferno to save you." With an impatient tug, Torie was led out of the building and into the alley where it was decided that Torie could do her business since there was no running water in the old club.

Torie stumbled as she was thrown against the brick wall. Her brow furrowed in concern. The pendulum just swung back – gone was the amazement that her kidnapper was well-read, replaced by concern that he was delusional. "You mean… the basement?" Torie asked carefully, not wanting to upset the man. All thoughts of having to relieve herself had suddenly dissipated.

Grabbing Torie's jaw, his fingers bit into her flesh. "I mean, we chose this place because of its significance. We thought there some irony that Hellboy would go to Hell and back for the woman he loved."

"You… you know… those really aren't the gates of Hell." Torie tried to smile benignly, but the iron grip on her face prevented her lips from curving upwards. She was sure her attempt turned into some sort of grimace.

The hand on her elbow tightened, but the hand on her face dropped away. "They will be for you if Hellboy doesn't show up," Torie's captor snarled. Her streak of fierceness was short-lived when her ankle was shackled to the foundation and her captor walked away to give her some privacy.

Torie sighed. For days she had tried to negotiate with her captors. She didn't want the totem. They could have it. No one stole it. It was given to her parents. A gift. And once it was gone, Torie never made any effort to track it down. At first, it was because it didn't register that it was missing in the days following their deaths. But then once it was brought to her attention that it was missing, Torie chalked it up to her parents' murderers stealing something that she knew held nothing but sentimental value to her folks. If the idol had any real financial value, it was lost on the Doctors James. It was a gift for saving a village from death by bringing much needed vaccinations and treatment for existing illnesses amongst the population.

Chukwu. The creator. A sun deity. The bringer of rains, and thus life. All good comes from the divinity.

But it was also the creator of death.

Torie thought there some irony in the situation. Especially since she knew so little about African beliefs, religion and mythology. But it was obvious that her captors felt – and thought that Torie did also – otherwise.

According to the men holding her, Torie was feeding them lies. If they let her go, she would just go after the totem again. Never mind the fact that years passed between the passing of her parents and the return of the idol. Apparently Torie had been plotting the whole time.

Sighing, Torie did her business and used the box of tissues that was kept in a plastic bag by the ankle manacle for use of cleaning up. "I'm done," Torie called out.

Her captor returned and silently freed Torie from her tether. As he led her back into the building, she decided to attempt, once again, to get to know her captors… in an attempt to gain even a smidgen of sympathy.

"Are you from Nigeria?" Torie tried to keep her voice light and curious, but knew she came across as desperate – which is what she was. But there was need to tip the cards so early. Even if they had been counted before being dealt out.

"No."

"Are any of you?" Good. Her voice sounded more even. Curious even.

"No."

The calmness of his voice infuriated Torie, but she fought hard to keep her cool. "Then why are you all so intent on this totem? You said that it was stolen from a temple, but how does it affect you? I'm afraid that I just don't understand." So much for cool.

"It matters not. It only matters that the error be corrected."

Slowing her steps in an attempt to slow the anger coursing through her veins, Torie nodded her head in the affirmative. "Fine. I agree – it needs to go back to the temple it was taken from. But my parents didn't take it; it was given to them as a thank you for helping a village on the brink of death. The elder gave it to them as a gesture of good will. I can't say for certain, but I doubt that he stole it either. So it must have been misplaced for quite some time." Her words were but a whisper when she finished.

"Yes," came the hushed response.

Torie stopped in her tracks. "So take it. It's yours." It was insane how this conversation kept going around and around in circles, when the answer was so simple. She had no idea what the men looked like, so there could be no retaliation. She had what they wanted. She was more than willing to let them have it in return for her life.

"You lie. As soon as it is out of your sight, you'll only send your Hellboy after it. It is too valuable to let it go so easily."

Not wanting to go back downstairs for fear of what might happen, she ransacked her brain for a way to stall the inevitable. Desperately, Torie tried another tactic. "I'll trade you then."

"Trade?"

"Yeah," Torie replied, the tone in her voice was one of obvious exasperation. But the curious tone in his voice gave her hope. "Trade. Although you now have what you want, you keep insisting that I'll try to get it back. I mean really, in all these years, have I – myself – tried to go after the totem? No. But, in an effort to try and make amends, maybe I'd be willing to trade you that totem in return for…" Torie didn't think that there would be any interest and kept expecting an interruption. Frantically trying to think of an option, Torie paused and wet her lips.

It was then that a voice caused Torie to spin around and squeal with glee.

Hellboy stepped out of the shadows.

"I hear that you asked for me, but boy, are you going to be sorry now that I'm here."