The girl then turned to William, sadness in her weary face.

The pull, the sensation of the other was immediately so strong that he jerked back to look out the window. “He’s right here. I can feel it. Wait, what’s that? Right there.”

“That’s a truck hauling ass,” Quincy said. “It’s coming right through that orchard. It’s headed for the road.”

“Get in front of it. He’s in that truck.”

The grayness had begun to dissipate, revealing lush, untouched orchards in the near distance. Quincy once again slammed on the gas pedal, easily reaching the beginning of the dirt road the other truck was barreling down. He parked, completely blocking the way.

William slid out to walk to the center of the road. As the truck came to a stop a yard away, the driver began to lean on the horn. William held up his hands. “I just need to talk to you,” he called out.

The driver waved at him to move the truck. William shook his head, yelling out again that he wanted to talk. He started to walk when he saw movement just above the truck’s roof.

A worker leaned on the metal, aiming a gun.

William felt the bullet whiz by, miss his shoulder by a breath. He cowered, waiting for the second bullet to strike.

Instead, he felt Ryan.

The man with the gun was tossed from the truck, hitting the ground hard. Two other men jumped from the bed, rushing to him as he tried to stand. One pummeled him in the face, the other punched him in the gut. The driver of the truck jumped out of the cab, walking towards the beating.

“Ryan, stop!” William yelled.

“You made me do it!” Ryan responded.

My God.

Just as he had done with Lily. With Jane. The instinct to protect himself, to kill or hurt, happened in a heartbeat.

He ran towards the fallen man, blocking Ryan’s commands. The three men stopped their assault and staggered back, clearly confused by their own sudden, unexplainable violence.

As William reached them, the man in the dirt scrambled for the pistol that had fallen a few feet away.

“No! I don’t want to hurt you!” William said.

“Diablo!” he gasped, clutching his stomach as he lurched for the pistol.

William scrambled to reach it first, sticking it in the back of his jeans. “Listen, please.”

“Mary, madre de la gracia,” the man responded, struggling to kneel. “Protegeme. Mary, madre del la gracia…”

Touch him. Just once.

William reached down and put his hand on the man’s shoulder. The man hissed at the connection between them. He scurried away from the shock, the electrical current that startled William at its intensity. “Diablo! Mantente alejado Diablo!”

“He saying to stay away, devil,” Jane said, she and the others cautiously approaching.

“Can you tell him we’re not here to hurt him?”

“No querer hacer dano,” Jane said.