I was dispatched to pick up a load of synthetic rubber at a little warehouse in Port Neches, TX. The warehouse was right on TX-73, where Taft Avenue crosses it, and I'd been there before, several times. Today, 73 passes over Taft Ave, but I don't think that was the case then. It was a grade level crossing. Both sides of 73 were two lanes wide, separated by a broad center median where the freeway is now. This night, it was foggy as you can imagine. I was driving a cabover Freightliner and could barely see past the windshield wipers. I knew where to turn, but missed it and I knew it immediately. No problem, though, I'd just go on to the next cross-over, turn around and make a left on Taft Avenue, which I did without any trouble. Now, though, I faced a delimma: Sitting at the stop sign, with my destination just across the two lanes of eastbound 73, I couldn't tell if traffic was coming or not. It was just too foggy to be sure, so I hesitated pulling out. I rolled down both windows to hear better and waited until a car went by on 73, just to see how far I could see his headlights. It wasn't far. If I chose the wrong moment to go and got hit broadside, it could be bad. But, I couldn't sit there all night. As I sat there working up the nerve to risk it, a shadow passed quickly across my headlights from right to left. I recognized immediately that it was a person, running around the front of my truck to the drivers side door! I looked down from the window and saw a woman, probably middle-aged, in a complete and total state of panic! She screamed, "Help me! He's going to kill me!" Before I could say "What?" an Hispanic man rounded the front of my truck and reached for her with both hands. His eyes were wild and evil looking and the expression of hate on his face left no doubt she was right. He was going to kill her with his bare hands and do it right under my window! I've seen a few faces like that in my life, the rage, the lost control, and they're scary. She shrieked as only those in mortal fear of their lives can do and fled into the darkness and fog, pursued closely by the man. They ran toward the back of my trailer. I lept from the truck, flashlight and tire billy in hand, and went after them, but I never saw or heard either of them again. They both simply disappeared into the night. I stopped at the back of the trailer and called out repeatedly for her to come toward the sound of my voice, but she never answered and never came. I couldn't even hear their footsteps. I searched the ditches on both sides without success, but dared not venture too far from the truck for fear I'd lose it in the fog and not find my own way back. Eventually, I reluctantly gave up and made it safely across 73 to the warehouse. This was the days before cell phones and there was no pay phone outside the building, so I tried unsuccessfully to find someone on the CB to call the cops for me. I finally just gave up and went to bed, but I barely slept. The events of the night troubled me too much. They still do. Fast forward about 15 years. I saw a story in the paper about an Hispanic man who was executed for the murder of a Port Neches convenience story clerk, a middle-aged woman. The murder was committed in 1982, the year this happened, and the picture of the man looked very much like the man I remember. Though I only got a very brief look at him, his face is burned into my memory. Was it the same man? The same woman? Had she gotten away from him, only to be caught again and killed because I hesitated for a fraction of a second? Could I have saved her? I don't know, but the possibilities still bother me.