Sugar Valley (Hollywood's Darkest Secret) (6 page)

Greg didn’t know what to do. His little
brother was leaving and he couldn’t stop him anymore. Yet, even
though Greg couldn’t stop him, he knew who could, and that person
was about to wake up once the rooster crowed. “Well, I don’t know;
I never lied to them before,” answered Greg.

He picked up the letter and saw what was
written on the envelope. “To Mom and Dad, you’re planning on
leaving them a letter like this?” Greg was shocked. Greg was
appalled and a little angered at Damen’s plan of action, his way of
saying goodbye. In Greg’s mind, the envelope really read, To Mom
and Dad, thanks for nothin’.

“Idiot, there’s a letter inside of the
envelope,” said Damen in a smart aleck manner. He walked over to
the door slowly and opened it ever so gently. The door made a
creaking noise every time it opened an inch.

“Wait a second ... I want to talk to you
before you go,” said Greg. He began cleaning up the spilled milk
fast, knowing that Damen was going to leave soon. Greg wanted to
catch up, to talk to his little brother, but it was too late, he
was leaving, and Greg had missed the chance to act the way an older
brother should every day.

Damen got the door fully opened, and turned
around to face his brother. He said in a fast way, “Listen, I don’t
have time to talk.” He felt the urge to only leave this place
behind, and not talk and waste time. But suddenly Damen opened his
eyes a bit more and saw the pain in Greg’s eyes, and felt that he
should say something to ease his sadness. “Listen, I got to go,
Greg, but once I get on my feet, I’ll call you.”

He walked halfway out the door before he
heard a low-toned voice say, “Good morning, Damen.” He stopped for
a moment and turned around slowly. That’s when the voice asked,
“Wait a second, what are you doing up now? You still have another
hour till we begin working on the crops. After all, today’s your
mother’s birthday, and we did sleep in a bit.”

“Good morning, Dad,” said Damen, his voice
shaking a bit.

“Oh, good morning, Greg. What are you two
doing up so early?” his father asked, seeing Greg cleaning up the
broken glass from the floor. He noticed Damen standing on the front
porch with the fading moonlight shining on his backpack, and asked,
“Where are you going, son?”

“Um, I’m just coming home from Jose’s house.
I slept over there last night.” He walked back inside the door, to
the kitchen, and threw his backpack over the letter that was laying
on the table. It was over, his plan was ruined, and the anger built
up in Damen’s mind. He was angry at his father for waking up, and
he was angry at Greg, for allowing him to stay there, and have his
father see him and catch him. But, he still had a chance; his
father didn’t know, yet, about his true plan, and that gave a
little hope to Damen’s tired mind.

“Don’t you think you’re a little too old for
sleepovers?” his father questioned. He went over to the
refrigerator and grabbed a carton of milk from it, and Damen just
stared at Greg, hoping that he would do something, would save the
day, and completely redeem himself as an older brother. “See, now
you’re going to be tired for work. I told you, if you want to be a
good farmer, you have to get to bed early,” his father stated,
pouring the milk into a glass.

The anger was too unbearable to keep in
anymore, any longer, so Damen whispered in a low, low tone, “That’s
just it, I don’t want to be a farmer.” Greg heard his words
perfectly, but his father just heard a bunch of whispers.

His father turned for a moment, stared at
Damen, and asked, “What was that?”

“I said, ‘I know, Dad, I’m sorry’. We just
stayed up late, catching fish in the Valley,” he answered. His
father turned back around, faced the refrigerator, and began
drinking the milk.

“And what are you doing up at this time?” his
father asked Greg. Damen hoped in his mind that Greg wouldn’t
squeal on him. So he closed his eyes, and in a sort of way, prayed
for a miracle, prayed that Greg’s words would be on his side,
instead of against him.

Greg looked at his father and turned to Damen
for an instant. He looked at Damen’s eyelids, how they were sealed
shut; he knew what he had to do. “I was just getting a glass of
milk.” Damen opened his eyes and looked at Greg with fear in them.
“Damen scared me when he came in the door, so I dropped the glass
on the ground,” Greg added, winking at Damen.

“Oh ... well clean up the mess and get to
bed. As for you, Damen, I want you to get to bed right away, at
least you’ll have an hour to get some shut-eye. Today I’m going to
show you how to use your tractor.” He put down the half-drunk milk
glass, and began to walk back up the stairs to his bedroom.

“Great, alright, Paps,” said Damen with
generic enthusiasm. He watched his father reach the second floor,
and then looked at Greg. He spoke softly. “Thank you.”

“You’re welcome.” Damen grabbed his book bag
and ran outside ever so quickly. “Hey ... I promise I won’t tell
them a thing, Damen,” he added before Damen slammed the door shut,
causing his father’s milk glass to tip over and spill all over the
table, including the letter.

Damen stepped off his porch and walked into
the darkness that was fading ever so quickly; dying with the break
of sunrise. He turned around to have one last look at what he’s
leaving behind. Looking at the new tractor his father bought for
him, the tractor his father said would make him a farmer, and
staring at the white, farmhouse he grew up in, Damen gave a moment
of silence. That’s when he ran. He ran for his destiny, a destiny
that would be his alone.

When he arrived at the train station, he saw
Jose and Darell with sad looks on their faces. Instead of going
over to them, to find out what was the cause of their dreadful
expressions, he ran toward a dirt road first that was behind the
station. Damen saw the road, lined up with cornfields on both
sides, seeing pebbles on the ground that were older than him, and
then looked up at a sign that read Welcome To Ridge Crest,
Population 500. He gave a rapid smile, reaching into his bag, and
pulling out a roll of white tape and a black marker; he looked
around and about to see if any strangers were lurking. Suddenly,
his vision told him the coast was clear, so he took the white tape,
peeled three strips from its roll, and covered the number “500,”
making it invisible to the naked eye. Damen Schultz then took his
black marker and wrote on the white tape, next to “population,” the
numbers 497, and laughed out loud in a crazy manner; his madness
could be heard for miles. “Well, Ridge Crest, so long,” he laughed,
turning around and away from the sign, and walked rapidly toward
the train station. Following his speedy rhythm up to his friends,
he questioned, “Okay, guys, are you ready?”

“Yeah, we’re ready, but the train station
isn’t,” Jose replied. He pointed to a sign that was hanging on the
door, the sign read CLOSED.

“It’s gonna be closed for another hour,
that’s gonna be too late,” Darell announced.

Suddenly, Damen asked in a voice of
confusion, “Wait a second, what’s gonna be too late?”

“My father’s going to be waking up in about
thirty minutes, he’s gonna read the letter right away. If he does,
then I’m screwed,” Darell mentioned. “Better yet, we’re all
screwed.”

Damen looked at Darell and then looked at the
CLOSED sign. “Your father’s not going to know where to look for
you, he’s going to probably look first in the Valley,” said Damen.
He stared at the old, used bubble gum that was lying all around the
wooded ground that surrounded the train station. He then looked
inside the building and asked, “Why is this place closed so early?
I thought it opened at 3:00 a.m.?”

“I don’t know why it’s closed. Still, all I
know is we better find another way to leave this town,” Darell
warned. It sounded like he was hiding something.

“What do you mean, Darell?”

“Well...” Darell spoke with a little
child–like voice, as if he just urinated in his pants.

“You didn’t?” Damen panicked. He knew what
Darell was talking about; he saw it through his eyes and the way he
was standing, like he was holding in his urine.

“Well,” Darell muttered again. He looked down
at the wooden floor of the train station; he was scared of Damen at
this point.

“You did ... you wrote in the letter that
we’re going to the train station.”

“Yeah, kind of.” Darell then looked up at
Damen very slowly.

“Darell, either yes, or no,” he hollered.

“Alright, yes, but I thought we would be on
the train before my father read it.”

Jose then broke through the argument and
asked with eagerness and confusion, “Why did you write that?”

“I don’t know, I was tired this morning and I
forgot. I’m sorry.” Darell then turned away from them. “Okay? I’m
sorry. It was a mistake, I’m only human.”

“Great, probably the next thing you’ll say is
you wrote what time we’re leaving at,” yelled Damen. Darell
suddenly looked down at the wooden floor again; it was the same
look he gave before.

“Oh no ... great, just great,” Damen shouted.
“Why the hell did you write that, do you realize that as soon as
your father reads that letter, all hell is gonna break loose?”

“Well, I didn’t know that your little plan
was gonna turn out so shitty,” Darell shouted back.

“What? What was that? You and Jose wanted to
go, today, so badly, and you’re blaming me for my plan?”

Jose jumped in the argument and roared, “Hey,
hey, hey, listen, you pendejo, it was your plan. You decided, for
us, to take the train, so you should have checked if it was open.
If you should blame anyone, Damen, blame yourself.”

The arguing began to get louder when Damen
screamed, “Listen, I don’t know what the hell you just called me,
but I do know that this was your plan first, Jose. You were the one
who stood up on that rock, like a frickin’ king, and preached that
you wanted to leave today.” The arguing worsened. Their voices grew
louder, and each time the sun would show itself a bit more. But
suddenly the arguing seized, died, and buried itself in their
minds, once they heard a noise that sounded like a train.

“Wait, what’s that?” asked Jose, staring at
the train tracks with a mesmerized glare.

“It’s probably the mail train or the
livestock train,” answered Darell.

“Wait a second, Jose, doesn’t that train go
to Chicago?” Damen questioned. He saw the smoke from the train
coming closer to them. The smoke symbolized hope; it symbolized
their only way out of this town.

“Yeah, yeah, it does.”

Damen’s eyes lit up with excitement, and Jose
knew what the cause of it was. Jose’s eyes suddenly caught this
virus, this excitement when Damen spoke, “Doesn’t Chicago have
airports?”

“Yeah, it does, it has a lot of airports.
From there, we could take a flight to California,” answered Jose.
Their faces all shone once again with happiness, with hope.

“I don’t know about this, guys. I don’t like
the idea,” mentioned Darell. The train came before them and slowly
came to a stop, while Darell’s mind held fear—it held some sort of
terror, fright—about riding a train illegally.

“Come on ... let’s get on it. It’s going to
be leaving in about a minute. The train is only here to drop and
pick up the mail, and Ridge Crest does not have a lot of that,”
Jose explained. Then they heard a loud gunshot coming from the
cornfield that stood all around them. They didn’t know where it
came from, all they saw was train tracks, a train station, a train,
and a bunch of yellow and green plants that made up the cornfields,
standing high like soldiers waiting for battle.

“What was that?” asked Darell, still looking
about and around the train station. The terror of not knowing where
that sinister sound came from ran through each of their minds,
their thoughts. They knew that either it was a hunter, or else one
of their worst fears: their fathers.

“I don’t know, who cares, let’s get on the
train,” answered Damen. He suddenly went around the train and tried
opening its doors, one of the train’s compartments. Jose helped in
the quest to open the door, and Darell still stood in fear, still
stood in terror; Darell knew who it was.

“I don’t know about this, guys. Isn’t that
dangerous? I don’t like this way of traveling, it’s a mail train,”
trembled Darell. Jose and Damen finally got the door opened, and
Jose jumped in the compartment. But when Damen was ready to jump in
next, Darell heard the sound of his father’s voice, in the
distance. “Oh no,” Darell shrieked, seeing his father shoot the gun
again, coming into Darell’s sight.

“Get back here now... If you don’t get back
here, so help me, God, I will shoot you myself,” his father yelled
out. The train started moving and Damen jumped off as he was about
to enter it. Damen felt that Darell was in shock, was
fear-stricken, and needed some help getting on the train.

“I thought you said your father’s going to
wake up in a half an hour?” questioned Jose. They heard another
gunshot in the distance; this time it was louder.

“I guess I was wrong. You know what, I’ll
settle for the mail train after all,” Darell muttered. He watched
his dad become bigger as he ran closer to him. Seeing the anger on
his face, Darell knew he would shoot them all.

“Come on, Darell, get on the train!” shouted
Damen. He looked at Darell looking at his father, and started to
shake him, causing him to leave the state he was in; the state of
fear. Damen jumped on the train and held out his hand for Darell to
grasp, to grab and lock onto it.

“Come on, Darell...” Jose and Damen screamed
together. Darell began to run beside the train, and now his fear
became more real when he saw his father running beside the train as
well. He knew his father was behind him with a gun in his grasp,
waiting for Darell to fall, or to trip, so he could capture him and
beat the hell out of him. Darell’s fears raced around his thoughts,
faster than the train was moving.