Witnesses Reportedly Heard Chilling Cry Moments Before Texas A&M Student Died

Brianna AguileraCourtesy of GoFundMe 

Witnesses allegedly claimed to have heard a chilling cry from someone in the area where Texas A&M sophomore Brianna Aguilera was found dead after a tailgate party.

According to a report from the New York Post, Texas attorney Tony Buzbee said two witnesses who were in the area where the 19-year-old cheerleader died. Both heard fighting around the same time as her death, telling authorities they heard an individual yell, “Get off me!” just moments before the young student died.

Aguilera was found dead on Friday, November 28, at a student apartment complex near the University of Texas, after the football game between Texas A&M and the Longhorns.

Buzbee’s first alleged witness is a man who claims he was down the street from the apartment complex.

“[He heard], “Get off of me!” — and screaming, and then a muffled cry between 12:30 and 1 a.m. next to the apartment,” Buzbee said at a press conference on Friday, December 5.

The second witness was reportedly across the hall at the time of the student’s death.

“Another witness could hear running back and forth and screaming,” Buzbee said.

The Austin Police Department announced on Thursday, December 4, that Aguilera’s official cause of death was suicide.

“In every investigation, we have to rely on the evidence, and all evidence in this case is indicative of suicide,” Sgt. Nathan Sexton said in a press conference.

Brianna Aguilera Courtesy of GoFundMe

Sexton also said investigators found a “deleted digital suicide note” on Aguilera’s phone, “which was written to specific people in her life.”

But Buzbee claimed Austin police did not talk to either of the witnesses and instead just jumped to the conclusion of death by suicide.

Buzbee argued the alleged suicide note was actually an essay she wrote days before her death.

“[The lead investigator] sees an essay on her phone and he calls it a suicide note,” Buzbee said. “She wrote an essay on the 25th that she deleted — and then she goes and kills herself four days later? It’s really ridiculous.”

He added, “It’s total baloney that they’re trying to sell you.”

Aguilera’s mom, Stephanie Rodriguez, said in the same press conference on Friday that her daughter “was not suicidal” and that she spoke to her every day.

She called for Austin Police to reopen the investigation into her daughter’s death.

“I can deal with you (Austin Police Department) being annoyed each time I called or tried to talk to you,” Rodriguez said. “I can deal with how arrogantly you talk down to us each time we talked. I can deal with you telling my daughter’s friends not to talk to me like I am some sort of criminal. But I cannot deal with you doing a news conference and saying false things about my child.”

She continued, “Without a thorough investigation, I cannot deal with you jumping to conclusions and not performing an actual investigation. I cannot deal with your failure to do your job, do your job.”

Rodriguez spoke to People on Tuesday, December 2, discussing the moment that police told her about the result of their investigation.

“And that’s when it made me very upset because I was like, my daughter wasn’t suicidal,” Rodriguez told People. “I would know. She’s not suicidal. Why would she be? She was living her best life. She loved life. I mean, she loved going to school. She wanted to become a lawyer.”

The Mysterious Death of Brianna Aguilera: Unraveling Red Flags in Friendship and Justice

In the vibrant yet unforgiving world of college life, where tailgates pulse with the energy of rivalries and dreams of the future hang in the balance, the sudden death of 19-year-old Texas A&M University sophomore Brianna Marie Aguilera has ignited a firestorm of controversy. Found unresponsive on the pavement outside a high-rise apartment in Austin, Texas, in the early hours of November 29, 2025, Brianna’s fall from the 17th floor of the 21 Rio Apartments has been officially ruled a suicide by authorities. Yet, her family’s vehement denial, coupled with allegations of overlooked “red flags” in her social circle, has transformed this tragedy into a national call for accountability. As the hashtag #JusticeForBrianna trends across social media, questions swirl: Was this a desperate act of self-harm, or a cover-up masking foul play? This article delves into the timeline, the clashing narratives, and the broader implications for young adults navigating friendships fraught with warning signs.

Brianna Aguilera was the epitome of youthful promise. Hailing from Laredo, Texas, the aspiring lawyer was a standout at Texas A&M’s Bush School of Government & Public Service. A former cheerleader with an infectious smile and unyielding determination, she embodied the spirit of Aggie pride. Friends and family described her as “the girl with the world at her feet,” her days filled with lectures on public policy, late-night study sessions, and the thrill of campus life. But beneath the surface of her ambitious facade, whispers of personal struggles had begun to emerge. In October 2025, Brianna confided in close friends about suicidal thoughts—a revelation that would later become central to the police investigation. Her mother, Stephanie Rodriguez, insists these were fleeting moments of vulnerability, not harbingers of tragedy. “I spoke to her every day,” Rodriguez told reporters, her voice cracking with grief. “She was not suicidal. She had plans, dreams. She was afraid of heights—terrified, even. Jumping from a 17-story building? Impossible.”

The events of November 28, 2025, unfolded like a scene from a college thriller. Brianna traveled to Austin for the fiercely contested Lone Star Showdown, the annual football clash between her beloved Texas A&M Aggies and their arch-rivals, the University of Texas Longhorns. The tailgate at the Austin Rugby Club was electric, a sea of maroon and burnt orange under the crisp autumn sky. But what began as celebration soured into chaos. Witnesses report Brianna becoming heavily intoxicated, to the point where she was asked to leave the party. In a haze, she lost her phone—a critical detail that would later fuel speculation about her final hours.

Surveillance footage captured Brianna arriving at the 21 Rio Apartments around 11 p.m., a bustling student housing complex just west of the UT campus. The building, with its sleek glass facade and panoramic views, caters to the transient energy of young adulthood. Inside one 17th-floor unit, a small group gathered—friends, acquaintances, and perhaps strangers bonded by the night’s revelry. Police say video evidence shows several people entering and exiting the apartment throughout the evening, but four individuals, including Brianna, remained until the end. At approximately 12:46 a.m., she plummeted to her death. Neighbors reported hearing a chilling cry echoing through the night—a guttural scream that one witness described as “not like any fall I’ve ever heard.” By dawn, her body lay motionless on the concrete below, shattering the fragile illusion of invincibility that college students so often cling to.

Austin Police Department (APD) moved swiftly, labeling the incident “not suspicious” within hours. On December 4, 2025, in a packed press conference, APD Detective Justin Marshall laid out a timeline that painted a picture of quiet despair. Brianna’s lost phone, recovered days later in a field near the rugby club, yielded damning evidence: a deleted digital suicide note dated November 25, addressed to specific loved ones, and text messages sent to a friend on the night of her death expressing suicidal ideation. “Unfortunately, Brianna had made suicidal comments previously to friends back in October,” Marshall stated solemnly, emphasizing that there was “no indication anyone pushed her.” The Travis County Medical Examiner’s Office corroborated this, ruling the manner of death as suicide due to multiple blunt force injuries consistent with a high fall.

For many, this explanation rang true in a nation grappling with a youth mental health crisis. The Centers for Disease Control and Prevention reports that suicide rates among college-aged individuals have surged 52% since 2000, often exacerbated by academic pressures, social isolation, and the intoxicating escape of alcohol-fueled parties. Brianna’s story, in this light, becomes a stark reminder of the invisible battles waged behind bright smiles. Yet, for her family, the official narrative is a house of cards built on “sloppy” assumptions and ignored inconsistencies.

Enter Tony Buzbee, the high-profile Houston attorney known for taking on seismic cases—from the Larry Nassar scandal to Houston’s flood litigation. Retained alongside the Gamez Law Firm, Buzbee has transformed Brianna’s death into a crusade against institutional negligence. At a fiery December 5 press conference in Houston, flanked by Rodriguez and Brianna’s father, Buzbee lambasted APD as “lazy” and “incompetent.” “They formed their conclusion within hours—before the autopsy, before interviewing witnesses,” he thundered. “This is absolute foolishness.” The family disputes the timeline: How did Brianna, disoriented and phoneless, navigate to a specific 17th-floor apartment she had no prior connection to? Why were key surveillance tapes from the building’s elevators not immediately secured? And most chillingly, what of the alleged argument?

Buzbee revealed witness statements pointing to a heated confrontation inside the apartment. One anonymous source, a man blocks away, claimed to hear not just a cry, but “words exchanged” moments before the fall—suggesting possible foul play. Another witness described Brianna punching a friend who tried to intervene at the tailgate, hinting at escalating tensions in her social circle. Rodriguez recounted a phone call from her daughter just hours earlier, where Brianna sounded “excited, not distressed.” The family also highlighted Brianna’s acrophobia, a fear so profound that she avoided balconies and high ledges. “She wouldn’t go near the edge,” Rodriguez pleaded. “Someone knows what happened up there.”

At the heart of this dispute lies a darker undercurrent: red flags in Brianna’s friendships. The YouTube video titled “BRIANNA AGUILERA | FRIENDS HAVE RED FLAGS 🚩,” uploaded on December 9, 2025, by true crime channel Daphne’s Case Files, has amassed over 2,800 views in its first day, dissecting how those closest to her may have failed her. The 52-minute deep dive scrutinizes the night’s attendees—many Texas A&M students like Brianna—who were quick to share snippets of her intoxication but silent on prior warning signs. Posts on X (formerly Twitter) echo this sentiment, with users decrying a “toxic friend group” that normalized excessive drinking and dismissed her October confessions as “drama.” One viral thread questions: “She texted friends about wanting to end it all that night—why didn’t anyone intervene? Red flags everywhere.”

This narrative resonates deeply in an era where social media amplifies the performative side of friendship while obscuring its pitfalls. Psychologists like Dr. Lisa Damour, author of Untangled, warn that young adults often overlook “red flags” such as inconsistent support or enabling risky behavior, mistaking them for loyalty. In Brianna’s case, her circle’s role in the tailgate—serving drinks to a visibly struggling friend—raises ethical questions about bystander responsibility. As one X user poignantly noted, “Friends don’t let friends climb balconies alone.” The video’s creator, Daphne, urges viewers to “spot the signs early,” blending true crime intrigue with self-help advice on cultivating healthier bonds.

The feud has escalated beyond rhetoric. Buzbee has demanded Detective Marshall’s removal and petitioned Governor Greg Abbott to enlist the Texas Rangers for an independent probe. APD, in response, has doubled down, with Chief Lisa Davis expressing empathy for the family while defending the investigation’s thoroughness. “Our hearts ache for them,” Davis said, “but the evidence doesn’t lie.” A GoFundMe for the Aguilera family has raised over $150,000, funding private investigators and legal fees, while online sleuths dissect every pixel of leaked footage.

Brianna’s story transcends one family’s grief; it exposes fissures in how we safeguard the vulnerable amid collegiate excess. Tailgates, meant for camaraderie, can devolve into dens of denial, where intoxication masks deeper cries for help. Mental health resources on campuses, though improving, remain underutilized—Texas A&M’s counseling center reports a 30% uptick in visits post-pandemic, yet stigma persists. Rodriguez’s plea—”Do your job”—isn’t just for police; it’s a rallying cry for friends, universities, and society to confront red flags head-on.

As the investigation inches forward, with the Rangers potentially intervening, Brianna’s legacy endures. Memorials at Texas A&M feature purple ribbons—her favorite color—symbolizing resilience. Friends who once partied with her now advocate for peer support programs, vowing to “be the intervention we wish we’d been.” In the words of Buzbee, “Brianna had big plans. We owe her the truth.” Whether suicide or something sinister, her death compels us to ask: How many red flags do we ignore before they become tombstones?

The quest for justice continues, a somber reminder that in the game of life, unlike football, there are no do-overs. For Brianna Aguilera, the final whistle has blown, but the echoes of her untold story reverberate, demanding we listen closer next time.

Buzbee’s first alleged witness is a man who claims he was down the street from the apartment complex.