The Hitting Zone-Novel

Chapter 408 The Search

I had a restless night of sleep. I was constantly thinking about Mrs. Atkins and if she heard us talk about my brother.

Noah was on the same boat, but on a different deck. He kept staring at me and making eye contact. He was still hung up on the fact that a professional baseball player on his favorite team could possibly be related to me by blood.

Mrs. Atkins shook her head at the pair of us, watching us eat breakfast. "You two better not fall asleep during class. I won’t bail you out if you get detention."

"You guys stayed up late last night?" Kyle asked.

"No-" Noah was about to deny, but with Mrs. Atkins as a witness that wasn’t possible. "Not exactly. We forgot to do some work for a project and time just got away from us."

"You better not do that a night before the game." Dave warned. "Lack of sleep can affect your performance on the field."

We withstood the nagging and lectures from the rest of Noah’s family. Even Zeke joined in on the way to school, not giving us a second of peace. Kyle even tatted us out to Mr. Miller, making the short ride to the school building, feel like a long one.

"Finally. Just the two of us." Noah sighed as we walked to his locker.

I pointedly looked around. We were surrounded by other teens. Everywhere.

"You know what I meant." Noah said. "No other family to butt in. If I ask you questions out here, no one is going to jump in our business."

"Questions?"

"Yea, like how much, percentage wise, do you think that Jeremy Patterson is your brother?"

"Shhh." I gripped his arm, looking around to make sure no one overheard. After seeing that no one was suspiciously looking at us, I lowered my voice. "Don’t say his name, okay? I’m not even sure if he’s him. It’s just a thought I had when I saw him on the news."

"The night you got sick! It was an anxiety attack, wasn’t it?" Noah asked.

I hiked my backpack up on my shoulders. "Yea, it sparked some memories I guess."

"Then it must be a high percentage." Noah whispered as we walked into the classroom. "Enough to jog your memories and upset you to that degree? I think we’re on the right path here." He looked around at our classmates. "We’ll do some investigating at lunch again. Eat in the library as we look up his bio."

"He has a biography?" I asked, unsure. "Aren’t those usually for old people?"

"No way. All athletes have some kind of bio online that lists their childhood, where they went to college, if they got married, those kinds of things."

"Married?" My eyes widened. "Is he?"

Noah rolled his eyes. "How would I know? I’m a baseball player, not a dating expert. And," He stressed. "He wasn’t on the A’s until recently. Sometimes during games, they’ll introduce little tidbits of their personal life’s, but I haven’t been paying too close attention."

The school bell rang.

We both fell silent as the teacher came into class.

Throughout the morning, Noah and I would ask each other questions during breaks. Which was pointless since neither of us knew the answers. I had an image in my head and Noah only knew baseball statistics.

It wasn’t until lunch that Noah remembered something from the night he was traded to the A’s. "I think I remember the broadcast saying he was raised in the Bay Area and that’s why he was unhappy with San Diego."

The blow took some air out of me. My shoulders drooped. "You’re thinking it’s not him?"

"No! No!" Noah said as we walked into the library. "I’m thinking that makes him your brother."

I raised an eyebrow, not understanding his thinking at all.

"Listen. If your mom was crazy when he was around too, then it makes sense why he doesn’t like the southwest. That was said too! San Diego knew he wouldn’t stay next year when he becomes a free agent. He rather go anywhere else. Because." Noah rubbed his hands together. "He didn’t want to be near your mom."

Wow. What a deduction. For some reason, it made me happy to know that Noah was on my side. He believed me when I told him that a famous ball player could be my brother. I wouldn’t have been surprised if he just laughed me off, but he’s taking this seriously.

We went to a computer in the corner and Noah started to login. He didn’t have to ask what he should do. He simply clicked the Google search button and started to type. ’Jeremy Patterson biography.’

The first two articles were just statistics from his time with San Diego. Both majors and minors.

Noah scrolled all the way through just to be sure. But the only personal information we got was his height and weight. Hometown: San Mateo.

I poked Noah. "Where’s that?"

"Part of the Bay Area." Noah mumbled. "But don’t read too much into it. Maybe he doesn’t want to admit being from the south."

Noah went to the third article. "Third time’s the charm." He scrolled to an insert that mentions Jeremy Patterson growing up in the Bay Area with his uncle. Uncle? Uncle...

I shook my head. "Maybe I was projecting too much on this guy. He grew up with an uncle. I don’t have any." I was wrong. I was just trying to see something when there wasn’t anything to see.

Noah frowned, but didn’t say anything. He just continued reading. Finally he backed out of that webpage and went back to the search bar. "Let’s find out why he grew up with his uncle then." He added the word uncle and pushed ’search’ again.

New article choices popped up.

Noah clicked on one from San Mateo. It was a special on Jeremy Patterson right before he was drafted.

[Jeremy Patterson, the future of baseball. He hits, he fields, and he can throw you out at home plate. The kid does it all and is preparing for the next step in his journey to become a professional baseball player: the MLB draft.]

Noah skimmed the article, scrolling until an interview portion.

[CC: You’re not just a baseball star at school, correct?

JP: I participated in football as well. Just as a wide receiver.

CC: So you have no interest in pursuing a professional career in that sport?

JP: Nope. Baseball is it for me. It’s in my blood.

CC: I’ve heard that not only your uncle played in the minors, but your dad as well?"

JP: Yes, they actually played together and were on the same team until my dad passed away.

CC: I’m sorry for your loss.

JP: It’s okay. I think of my dad frequently when I’m on the field. We would play catch and he taught me a lot before his time was up. I’m happy with the time I got.

CC: That’s a very positive outlook.]

It went on, but I loss interest. I sat back and slouched in my seat.

Noah noticed and pulled his eyes away from the screen. "What is it?"

"It’s not him. He’s not my brother." I couldn’t tell if that made me happy or not.

"You don’t know that yet." Noah pointed at the part where they talked about the dad passing away. "Look. Here."

"What? His dad passing away? How does that relate to me?"

"Jake." Noah stressed. "Think about it. What would be a good reason for the state being unable to find your father? Death! You can’t find someone who is dead unless you know where to look."

I sat up a little, but was still skeptical. "Wouldn’t he be slightly easier to find? Since he wouldn’t be on the run or anything?"

"They don’t have a last name, but we do." Noah tapped ’Patterson’.

"We don’t have a first name though...Patterson is a common last name. I’m sure a lot of Patterson’s die every day."

Noah grinned. "Yea, but how many played in the minors until they passed away?" Noah went back to Google search. He then typed, ’baseball minor leaguer Patterson death’.

The very first link was from the SoCal Register.

"Drunk Driver Kills Minor League Star"

As soon as the article opened, a picture of the victim appeared at the top. He looked more like my dad than Jeremy Patterson did. He...he’s definitely the man I remember.

My eyes stung and my vision blurred, making it impossible for me to read the article. The picture and headline told me everything I needed to know anyways. My dad is dead.

"It happened about eleven years ago." Noah said in a low voice. "That’s when you were three. You said before, the last time you saw him, you were little. Real little."

The tears started to fall. I didn’t know what to do. I buried my face in my sweatshirt and cried. Cried for the things I couldn’t have. Cried for being so angry at a dead man. Cried for myself and the painful childhood I had to survive without him.