Imagine this: it's the dead of night on a desolate Texas highway. Your truck sputters to a halt, leaving you stranded in pitch blackness. You grab your phone, dial 911, and gasp into the receiver: 'There's a guy chasing me through the woods... please hurry!' The line crackles, your voice fades... and then, silence. Forever. What happened to Brandon Lawson that fateful August night in 2013? Stay with me – this tale of mystery and heartbreak will leave you questioning everything.
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| Brandon Lawson |
Welcome back to True Crime Tales with Cosette, where we delve into the shadows of unsolved mysteries that haunt us all. Today, we're exploring one of the most perplexing vanishings in recent American history: the disappearance of Brandon Mason Lawson, a 26-year-old father from San Angelo, Texas. Born on 18 November 1986, Brandon was the devoted son of Bradley and Kimberly Lawson, with siblings Brittany, Kyle, and Billy. He grew up loving the outdoors – fishing, camping, and dreaming of his own pickup truck. By his mid-20s, he'd built a life with his long-term partner, Ladessa Lofton, whom he'd met in high school. Together, they had three young children, and Ladessa was stepmother to Brandon's eldest daughter from a previous relationship. Brandon worked grueling 60-hour weeks in the oil fields for Renegade Well Services, but he was clean from substance abuse for about six months and had a new job lined up the following Monday. He was, by all accounts, a family man who wouldn't dream of abandoning those he loved.
But on the evening of 8 August 2013, cracks appeared in that picture. Around 10:45 pm, Brandon arrived home after not returning the previous night. Ladessa, frustrated and suspicious of a possible drug relapse, confronted him. The argument escalated – nothing violent, just the strain of long hours, young kids, and unspoken tensions. By 11:30 pm, Brandon rang his father in Crowley, Texas – a three-hour drive away – and insisted he was coming over to cool off. At 11:54 pm, he stormed out in his silver Ford F-150 pickup, leaving Ladessa behind.
What happened next would unravel into nightmare. About 45 minutes into his drive, around 12:30 am on 9 August, Brandon's truck ran out of petrol on the remote stretch of US Highway 277, just south of the tiny town of Bronte in Coke County. This was barren West Texas terrain: drought-stricken fields dotted with thorny mesquite, cacti, and huisache bushes, home to rattlesnakes and feral hogs. No streetlights, no passing cars – just endless darkness.
Panicked, Brandon dialled his brother Kyle, who lived just a mile from Brandon's home. 'I've run out of gas,' he said, giving his location. Kyle, with his wife and young child, grabbed a fuel can from Ladessa's porch and set off with his partner Audrey to help. But during that call, Brandon dropped a bombshell: 'Three blokes are chasing me out of town.' He clarified it was 'the Mexicans in the neighbourhood,' sounding breathless and erratic. Kyle later admitted Brandon had relapsed on methamphetamine shortly before – could this be paranoia? Brandon denied hallucinating, but the seeds of doubt were sown.
Then, at 12:50 am, Brandon made the call that would grip the nation: a frantic 911 emergency line from his mobile. The audio, later released, is chilling – garbled by poor signal but laced with desperation. Listen to this [9-1-1 call audio].
He tells the dispatcher, 'Yes, I'm in the middle of a field... pulled some guys over, right here going towards Abilene, on both sides. My truck ran out of gas. There's one car here; the guy's chasing... to the woods. Please hurry! We're not talking to him... I told you I ran into 'em.' The operator asks if he needs an ambulance; Brandon snaps back, 'No, I need the police!' He sounds out of breath, as if running. What did he mean by 'ran into 'em'? A confrontation? An accident? The call cuts short amid static – his last known words.
Between 12:50 am and 1:15 am, Brandon made several more calls: to Kyle, Ladessa, a neighbour, and back to 911. Reception was abysmal; many went to voicemail. In one to Kyle around 1:18 am, Brandon whispered he was bleeding and could see his brother's car approaching. 'I'm right here,' he said, panting. Kyle arrived at the truck site by 1:10 am, just as a Coke County Sheriff's deputy pulled up – alerted by a passing trucker who'd spotted the abandoned vehicle crooked in the road, a hazard.
The scene was eerie: Brandon's Ford F-150 sat partially on the highway, engine off, no damage visible. His keys, wallet, phone – all gone. No blood, no signs of struggle. The deputy searched the immediate area but found nothing. Kyle, on the phone with Brandon at that moment, heard him say, 'I can see you,' yet neither he nor the deputy spotted anyone. Kyle assumed Brandon was hiding – perhaps due to an active arrest warrant from two years prior, which Brandon had only recently learned of and planned to resolve. Tragically, Kyle didn't mention the ongoing call to the deputy, and the deputy didn't reveal the 911 report. After 30-45 minutes, Kyle drove a short way up the road to wait, but Brandon never emerged. He left around 1:45 am, heartbroken and confused.
Searches began immediately: aerial sweeps, thermal imaging, cadaver dogs, ATVs – involving multiple agencies, including the Texas Rangers. They scoured miles of rugged land but found nothing. A spot under a nearby tree suggested someone had sat there, within eyesight of the truck, but there were no footprints, no clues. Brandon's bank accounts and phone went silent after 1:19 am. Ladessa reported him missing the next day, 9 August.
Theories swirled like dust in the Texas wind. Was it foul play? Brandon's vague references to 'guys' chasing him suggested an altercation – perhaps road rage, or tied to his warrant. Some speculated drug-related trouble, given his relapse. Or did he wander off, disoriented by meth, and succumb to the elements – dehydration in the drought, attacked by wildlife? The terrain was unforgiving; people have vanished there before. Others wondered if he staged it all, cashing out his 401k beforehand, but his family insisted he wouldn't abandon his children. No evidence supported voluntary disappearance.
For years, the case languished unsolved. The 'Help Find Brandon Lawson' Facebook page, started by family and friends, grew to over 29,000 followers by 2025, fuelling public interest and amateur searches. Then, breakthroughs: In February 2022, a small volunteer search party, led by advocate Jason Watts, found clothing matching Brandon's – a yellow shirt, camo shorts, and white Nike trainers – near his last known spot, about a mile from the truck on private hunting land. The Texas Rangers followed up, discovering human remains – a skullcapand fragments, heavily decomposed after nine years exposed to the elements. DNA testing dragged on due to the poor condition – little material left, each test destructive – bouncing between labs. But on Christmas Day 2024, Ladessa posted the confirmation: DNA matched Brandon. 'We can finally bring him home,' she wrote, after 4,362 days of agony.
Yet, questions linger. In July 2025, authorities finally released the remains to the family, allowing a proper burial. A public memorial was set for 30 August 2025 at Pathway Church in Burleson, Texas – attendees were asked to wear white, blue, and silver for Brandon's beloved Dallas Cowboys. Tragically, state investigators now classify it as a homicide, though no cause of death has been publicly released – no foul play evidence from the start, but the circumstances scream unresolved. Ladessa has voiced heartbreak: 'My soul can finally rest, but what happened that night?' The Texas Rangers urge tips via Crime Stoppers (1-800-252-TIPS).
Brandon's story is a stark reminder: one wrong turn, one cryptic call, and a life slips away. Was it misadventure, murder, or something darker? The truth may forever elude us, but his family's resilience endures.
