Robert Espericueta and his cousin Roland Moya stand outside the Lighthouse Assembly of God in Port Isabel, a sleepy town of roughly 6,000 people in South Texas. It’s a weekday in mid-April, overcast but bright, and the wind is coming on strong. The sound of waves crashing in the Gulf Coast bay just a few blocks down the road carries in the salty air.
Both in their early 40s, Espericueta and Moya are here to meet with Pastor Steven Hyde, whom they haven’t spoken to in decades. Hyde rolls up in his white pickup and steps out. As he walks up to Espericueta and Moya, they greet one another with warm hugs.
“Pastor Hyde, how old are you now 20 years later?” Moya says, laughing.
“You don’t wanna know!” replies Hyde in a strong East Texas accent, waving everyone into the church. For the past few months, Espericueta has been doing a lot of this kind of thing, digging up old memories and meeting with old acquaintances, trying to piece together a night 20 years ago that has haunted him since.
On September 15, 2001, just four days after the planes struck the Twin Towers, Espericueta and Moya witnessed another tragedy, one of far less notoriety
