Book 2: Chapter 7: Almost a Good Day (1/2)

1400 Cornelius Graham: Payment sent. GJ.

Dan checked his bank account, noting his fee's sudden appearance. Not bad for ten minutes worth of work. He clicked his phone shut, and clapped his hands together, satisfied. It was a beautiful day outside. The large shopping center that he'd teleported outside of after leaving the FBI field office was as packed as one would expect on a Friday afternoon. The birds were singing, and people were going about their day. Sun shined down on Dan's face, warmth flooding his chest.

He was seized by the sudden urge to buy something for Abby. Something cute and lovey-dovey. Engraved jewelry, or heart-shaped chocolate, or a personalized stuffed animal. Was Build-A-Bear a thing in this dimension? He had no idea, but he wanted to see his girlfriend's expression when he plopped a teddy bear in her lap.

God, he was such a sap.

The mall, unlike just about everything else in this dimension, had no overarching theme. Its construction was simple and economic. Clean. Not something out of science fiction, so much as a dimensionally displaced America; one where cleanliness was actually enforced, and every surface was scrubbed daily to a bright shine. There were tile floors and marble planters holding small trees. Escalators led to the upper floors, three in total. Steel railings and iron bars kept random toddlers from falling to their death. The mall's design was the largest display of pure practicality that Dan had come across thus far.

All of this was spoiled by the truly outrageous and often disturbing shops crammed into the building. He passed a dimly lit store, filled with a writhing layer of mist. The light fog moved as if it were alive, crawling across the floor like a millipede. Dan could make out shapes within it, thousands of shadowy tenterhooks clicking and clacking against the floor, propelling the collective in slow, predatory circles.

He could see clothing on display inside, black leather and spikes. Heavy boots, chains, gloves. Pictures of women's faces, with makeup so dark and thick that their eyeballs had receded into their skulls and their lips were smears of black. Next to the counter was a sign advertising tattoos and piercings. The display pieces were macabre drawings of skulls and sharp teeth.

Gothic architecture hung upside down from the ceiling of the shop, and something fluttered from spire to spire— Bats! Those were literal bats! Dan scuttled away from the store before something decided to sip on him.

Western themed shops were too numerous to count. This was Texas after all, and some things transcended dimensions. When they went Western décor, they committed, hard. Most places had at least one cactus. The shelves were usually hand-carved, sanded smooth, and adorned with a wide variety of animal bits. Dan counted five chandeliers made of antlers, fourteen cowhide rugs, eight games of horseshoes, and more boots and hats than he could shake a stick at.

He made a mental note to come back later to take a look.

The food court was a mind melting collage of hyper-specialized eateries. Seafood restaurants like the one he'd first met Abby in, what felt like years ago. Recycled surfboard seats, and clamshell menus. A river of waist deep water ran a circuit through the restaurant, inside which mermaid waitresses cruised along, plates of food in hand.

Dan passed what he assumed was an Asian restaurant, though it seemed like a confusing mish-mash of cultures. Japanese ofuda hung on the walls, and customers kneeled on tatami mats. The kitchen was open to viewing, and half a dozen chefs cooked up orders on a massive grill. The food was delivered in decorated bowls, upon which animated Chinese dragons flew lazy circles among white clouds. The waiters were dressed in traditional cheongsam and changshan, though dyed bright red.

The food was served with forks and knives.

It was pretty weird, though nothing more so than Dan had seen before. What finally gave him pause was the blacksmith. Right across from the food court, in plain sight of everyone seated, was a tool store done in the medieval style. Heat billowed out of the front, from the clearly visible forge. Assistants worked the bellows, pumping air into the roaring fire, while others hammered metal into shape on top of massive anvils.

Some part of Dan knew that this was all for show. There was a visual trick here, probably some kind of upgrade that made it all possible. More than one of the workers must have had heat resistance, as they were literally handling cherry red steel. The rest of Dan, the majority of him, bounced up to the store with a wide grin on his face.