Demetre Taylor had just finished extra batting practice with his Eastern baseball teammate Trey Russell, when he entered the locker room and discovered he had seven missed calls and text messages from his mother and younger brother.

“I was only gone for an hour, so when I saw the missed calls and texts, I knew something was wrong,” Taylor said.

In March 2013, less than a month into his first season with Eastern, Taylor was ready to go back to his family in Tampa, Fla., as baseball no longer seemed important at the moment.

“You know how a mother knows when there’s something wrong with her child? That’s how I know when there’s something wrong with her,” Taylor said. “She was crying and I asked what was wrong.”

His mother, Joyce Taylor, could not finish telling Demetre over the phone that his brother John Taylor had been shot five times — once in the leg and four times in his back — a bullet piercing inches from his spine.

His other brother Michael called next, explaining what had happened. Calls continued to come in, but Demetre could not handle it anymore.

“One by one family kept calling me, calling me, calling me, so after a while I just turned my phone off — I just wanted to talk to my brother and I couldn’t,” Demetre said.He was helpless, stranded in central Illinois, nearly 1,000 miles away from his wounded brother, who was in critical condition fighting for his life in the hospital.

“The toughest part was that I wasn’t there; I wasn’t with my family; I couldn’t see my brother,” he said.

Demetre and John have a special bond, as out of Demetre’s five brothers and five sisters, John was not only family, but a teammate as well.

Both attended Middleton High School in Tampa, where they played on the same football and baseball teams.

Already with a strong bond, it became deeper when they were teammates.

“We became closer during our junior and senior years of high school because we played baseball and football together,” Demetre Taylor said.

The two-sport athletes had not seen each other since Christmas of 2012.

He was stunned. Shaken. Heartbroken.

Demetre called Eastern coach Jim Schmitz that very night, telling him what happened. The baseball team had an early weight-lifting session the next morning, which Demetre refused to miss.

“I didn’t want to do anything, I just wanted to go home, but I knew that my brother would want me to go to practice,” he said.

***

Demetre Taylor said he is a loudmouth, but the day after he found out about his brother’s shooting, he remembers keeping to himself, being quiet throughout the day.

But he had to keep it together, as Eastern was getting ready to enter its conference portion of the schedule.

It wasn’t easy for the red-shirt freshman, aside from dealing with struggles at the plate. He had the constant thought of his brother running through his head. The mental anxiety became so great that during games, all of his emotions could not be controlled.

“There were times that during my at-bats I would have to call time because I had to wipe tears off my face,” Demetre said. “Other times I would just go to the back of the dugout and take a couple of deep breaths and tell myself, ‘OK, it’s time to man up.’”

Meanwhile, John recovered after spending more than a month in the hospital, where at one point being paralyzed was a possibility.

“It’s amazing to see him from that, to seeing him walk and run again,” Demetre said. “Some things, you just have to question. It just seemed impossible.”

The two brothers finally saw each other again last Christmas, in John’s home in Tampa.

When the two brothers came face-to-face, John had a clear message for Demetre.

“The first thing he said to me was, ‘there isn’t anything here, there isn’t anything here in Tampa — you go and ball out and believe in yourself,’” Demetre said.

***

Tampa wasn’t the most desirable place to grow up as a teenager, Demetre said. At Middleton High School, Demetre said, an average of five police squads would show up on a daily basis. Nearby was Michael Taylor’s house, Demetre’s father, where he lived.

Demetre said he is lucky to be at Eastern, as some of his close friends from Tampa did not make it to their 21st birthday.

“If I was back home, I would just be another statistic,” Demetre said. “I would be in jail, dead or I would have a girl pregnant.”

He lost a couple of friends — Greg, who lived close to him and was a football teammate, was gunned down in his neighborhood. And Watson, who was stabbed to death.

“I remember my mother and father telling me there’s nothing back in Tampa,” Demetre said. “They would tell me, ‘If you go back to Tampa there’s no getting out. Playing baseball is your only way out.’”

He did make it out, but nothing could prepare him for yet another devastating call from his mother less than two months after his brother’s shooting.

***

The Eastern baseball team had not been off to a great start in the Ohio Valley Conference, heading into its series against Belmont in late April.

The Panthers were 4-13 in OVC play, needing to win most of their conference games that remained if they wanted to reach the postseason tournament.

Demetre does not remember if he had a good game or a bad game, all he remembers is Eastern’s 2-1 loss that Friday night, April 26, 2013.

Following the game, he returned to his hotel room, turned on his TV and began watching SportsCenter.

Coming off a close loss never feels good, but he had another bad feeling on his way to the hotel

“A bad vibe,” Demetre said.

Then, while watching SportsCenter he picked up his phone, answering his mother’s call.

A one-run loss suddenly meant nothing to him.

“She wasn’t really crying this time, she was more overwhelmed,” he said. “She told me that my cousin Paul had been shot and killed.”

Paul Thorpe, 21, dead.

“All I know is someone came up behind him and shot him in the head,” Demetre said. “I don’t know if it was gang-related because I wasn’t there, but knowing Tampa it probably was.”

Demetre’s body was frozen, like he had just jumped into an ice bath after he found out about his cousin’s death, he said.

“I was just like ‘what the f—, first my brother and now my cousin Paul,’” Demetre said. “It was unreal. I thought it had to be a dream.”

But sadly it was no dream — it was a real-life nightmare. Not wanting to believe it was true, Demetre said he told his coach and then went straight to sleep, wishing that it were a dream.

The next morning his father called and confirmed the news. Still in shock he left his hotel room, Demetre said.

“I just went for a walk in Tennessee,” he said. “I didn’t know where it was going, but I just walked for about an hour or two. I still remember that it was raining, but at the time I didn’t care. I was just emotionally tired.”

A little more than three inches of rain fell on that Saturday in Nashville, Tenn., as he walked around feeling as though a blade had slashed through his heart.

He played the second game of the series, driving in a run, helping Eastern win 3-1, but it wasn’t the same anymore. He was there physically, but his mind was no longer present.

After both tragedies, he said the only people who knew were his coaches.

He kept to himself for the remainder of the season, some moments breaking down, crying between innings. All the while, holding everything inside.

“All the things I had to go through last year, that mentally f—ed me,” Demetre said. “I told my coach some bits and pieces, but I didn’t tell any of my teammates.”

Through the adversity he has faced within the year, Demetre said it has helped this season.

“That really got me mentally strong this year – going through that last year that really got me through this year,” he said.

***

In December 2013, when Demetre Taylor went back home for Christmas, he realized how military families must feel when they are reunited.

“The first thing I did was give my brother a hug,” he said. “I don’t know exactly how families with service members feel like, but I can get the gist of it being able to see your family again.”

Similar to the first words his brother told him, Demetre’s parents followed with the same message: there is nothing good for you in Tampa.

“My mother didn’t want me to go back to Tampa because she knew I would get really emotional,” he said. “She didn’t want me to cry. My momma told me, ‘don’t cry, don’t shed one tear. Remember who you’re playing for and remember what you’re playing for.”

Those words kept him going through the season, which he said some players might not have been able to achieve.

“I didn’t give up, I didn’t stop,” Demetre said. “My brother and my mother are the two main people that motivate me to strive for greatness.”

Now, he goes to every game still thinking about home, but no longer is tormented by the violence that consumed his family last year. Demetre still thinks about his family, his home and his city trying to represent them as best he can.

“This is bigger than baseball,” he said. “When I go out on the field, I’m not only representing myself, I’m representing my family, my mother, my brother and Tampa. Even though it’s a bad neighborhood that’s my neighborhood that’s where I’m from.”

Aldo Soto can be reached at 581-2812 or asoto2@eiuedu.