Hell Highway

[Part ① · Living Material]

Little Jack silently repeated the name as he paced back and forth outside the door. Under the receptionist's baffled gaze, he pressed his palms together in prayer like a devout believer.

"David! David Victor!"

The receptionist had even gone to the lounge to touch up her makeup, but she still couldn't sway this weirdo, whose heart held room for nothing but "stories."

She followed Jack all the way to the guest-room corridor, frustrated and furious. Leaning against the far end of the hall, she wanted to see what the oddball was up to.

Little Jack was just about to knock—

—when the heavy door suddenly cracked open. A chilly draft slipped through the half-open gap, revealing a gaunt, stern face.

David Victor stood utterly still. His wild golden curls were the most recognizable feature in the newspaper portraits, and his high nose gave his face the sculpted, three-dimensional look of stone.

His hands were broad, his knuckles rough.

His lips were very full, and his green eyes held a cold, contemptuous gaze.

Little Jack was overjoyed.

"I never thought Mr. David would really be staying here! He really is! It's true! I finally get to see Mr. David in person!"

David Victor gave no direct response. He simply leaned out of the doorway and glanced from side to side, spotting the receptionist.

The great author was wearing pajamas and holding two pens, one fountain pen and one quill, as if he'd been working at his desk late into the night.

He gently pushed Jack Martin aside and stepped out.

Little Jack was still basking in the joy of meeting his idol and noticed nothing amiss.

David Victor walked up to the hotel employee, to the flamboyantly dressed woman.

He was perfectly polite, like a gentleman.