LA PLATA, Md. -- Brad Wells spent the last moments of his life in the passenger seat of a white Tesla Model X, winding down a two-lane road in southern Maryland under the glow of a crescent moon. The driver, Dayton Webber, was something of a local celebrity -- a quadruple amputee who went on to become a professional cornhole player.
To Wells, though, he had been a friend. They grew up riding dirt bikes or ATVs at the same local motocross track. They both owned and loved guns. According to people who know them, they had been friends for a decade, if not longer.
On this mild Sunday night, they had driven north to a chain steakhouse in a neighboring town, where a mutual acquaintance named Gary Gray was wrapping up his shift at work. The restaurant closed at 10 p.m., and Gray and one of his co-workers hopped in the back seat. Webber steered the Tesla back south.
As they reached the outskirts of La Plata, Maryland, Webber and Wells got into what police described as a heated argument over "drugs, guns and a woman." A Maryland prosecutor said in court that Webber believed someone had stolen weapons from his house and was angry that Wells was still associating with the supposed thief. Gray described the argument to a British tabloid as being about "high school BS."
Whatever the specifics, there is little disagreement about what happened next: Somewhere along Radio Station Road, the argument boiled over. Webber, who was still driving, produced a gun. Authorities say he fired two shots into Wells' head, leaving a bullet hole in a car window and blood on the passenger seat.
In the chaotic minutes that followed, Webber pulled over and asked Gray and his co-worker to help get Wells' body out of the car, according to a police report. The passengers said they refused and fled. Webber kept driving. A few hours later, a resident who lives about 10 miles away noticed Wells' body in their front yard.
Police found Webber at an emergency room in Charlottesville, Virginia, where he had stopped to receive medical treatment and called his lawyer. His Tesla -- and a handgun matching the description of the murder weapon -- was located at the gas station next door. The 27-year-old was indicted on charges that include first-degree murder, which carries a maximum sentence of life imprisonment. His attorneys argued that he acted in self-defense.
"Both parties agree that Dayton Webber shot Bradrick Wells," state prosecutor Karen Piper Mitchell said in a recent news conference. "As to the why, that's where we're in dispute."
In the weeks after the March 22 killing, the case generated sensationalized headlines and went viral on social media, with crude jokes about Webber's disability -- and old clips of him firing weapons -- helping to fuel the story's spread. Many people simply wondered how a quadruple amputee could shoot a gun while driving.
But now, more than a month later, those social media quips have subsided. What's left is a tragic reality -- and two people whose complicated lives are now coming into sharper focus. There's Webber, a once-inspirational figure now awaiting trial, as new slivers of his past come to light. And there's Wells, a gearhead and recent father whose death, in the eyes of friends and family members, is being overshadowed by the onetime friend who pulled the trigger.
"Dayton used to be [Wells'] best friend. So just for any of this to be the way it is, [it's] crazy to me," said Ronell Bradshaw, who said he had known Wells since they were in middle school.
"It's like, how do you kill your best friend, you know?"
WEBBER'S JOURNEY TO professional cornhole is the quintessential underdog story -- an uphill climb against seemingly insurmountable odds. In 2023, it garnered national media attention from ESPN and from NBC's "Today." And the story of how he lost his limbs laid the foundation for his inspirational persona.
Webber was just 10 months old when he spiked a 105-degree fever and his mother, Natalie, first took him to see a doctor, according to a copy of a multimillion-dollar lawsuit filed by the Webber family against the medical team responsible for his initial care. When the symptoms persisted over the course of the day, then worsened, Webber was put on an emergency flight to Children's National Hospital.
Doctors in Washington gave Webber an aggressive course of antibiotics, but it couldn't stop the infection surging through his body. He contracted meningitis and went into sepsis. A few weeks before his first birthday, doctors amputated all four of his limbs. The lawsuit describes it as "a last ditch effort to save his life."
The ordeal rocked the Webber family. The lawsuit, which initially sought more than $13 million in damages, was later settled and created a trust in Webber's name. Though the size of the settlement has not been publicly disclosed, the family has withdrawn at least $600,000 from the fund to date, according to court records reviewed by ESPN. The money has covered everything from medical expenses and car repairs to loans for Webber's parents -- and, as of 2017, an apparent $2,500 monthly allowance for Webber.
Webber and his parents were determined that his physical limitations would not stop him from playing sports or enjoying hobbies like any other kid. According to articles in the Southern Maryland News, he played nose guard on a youth football team and wrestled for at least five years. He rode four-wheelers. After shooting his first deer when he was just 9 years old, he discovered a passion for hunting.
"You're free out in the woods," Webber told the local newspaper when he was 14. "Out there, it makes you feel closer to God."
Cornhole, though, was perhaps his greatest passion. In a 2023 profile, Webber told ESPN that he first played the sport in the backyard with his family, learning to pinch the corner of the bag between his arms and scoot his lower body forward to help propel it to the board. As a teenager, he said, he started taking it more seriously, playing in as many as 16 tournaments in one week. He realized he could maybe turn pro.
"I knew I was going to have a career in this game when I was going to the weekly blind draws and winning a bunch," Webber previously told ESPN. "I was like, this is my calling. This is where I can succeed."
Webber applied to become a professional cornhole athlete in 2021 and went on to spend two of the next three seasons in the American Cornhole League's national rankings, climbing as high as No. 87 in professional doubles. An ACL spokesperson did not reply to emails from ESPN seeking additional information about Webber's history and current status with the league, though the 2023-24 season appears to be the last in which he competed as a pro.
Along the way, Webber chronicled his trips around the country to compete in cornhole tournaments on social media, as well as a handful of apparent speaking engagements. In court documents connected to the murder case, he listed his occupation as "self employed motivational speaker [and professional] cornhole player," with a net income of $100,000 last year.
He talked about -- and sought to prove -- that he could live his life like anyone else.
"I'm really getting sick of people underestimating me and my abilities," he wrote in a 2022 Facebook post. "Everyone assumes I can't do anything but sit and talk cause I have no hands or feet. ... People gonna stop f---ing doubting me!"
IN COURT, ONE of Webber's attorneys, Hammad Matin, described him as "an individual that everyone knows" and "an inspiration for a lot of people."
Since his arrest, however, a more complicated portrait has emerged.
An undated video clip published by TMZ last month appears to show Webber standing on his head and snorting an unknown substance off a dollar bill, then walking to a nearby window and firing two shots outside. In an October 2020 incident, a tire on his Chevy Silverado came off and struck a police car before the pickup truck itself crashed into the side of a building. Police found Webber inside with a blood alcohol concentration of 0.12, according to court records, and charged him with driving under the influence.
One of Webber's neighbors, who requested anonymity due to concerns for their family's safety, described a disconnect between his behavior and his inspirational reputation. The neighbor said Webber hosted raucous parties and could be heard firing guns on his property at all hours, including in the middle of the night.
"He just didn't really care about people around him," the neighbor told ESPN. "He just did what he wanted to do, whenever he wanted to do it."
The neighbor said they feared confronting Webber directly but called police on multiple occasions and, at one point, even called his parents. The Charles County Sheriff's Office has declined to release a log of calls for service to Webber's address, citing the ongoing murder investigation. Webber's parents declined comment to ESPN through his attorneys. One of those attorneys, Andrew Jezic, also questioned the neighbor's account and told ESPN that, to his knowledge, Webber was never previously charged with a gun-related crime.
Other court records and police incident reports obtained by ESPN detail troubling allegations between Webber and his ex-girlfriend, Tori Mattingly.
In 2024, Webber filed multiple domestic violence petitions against Mattingly, accusing her of physical abuse and destroying his property. On another occasion, he asked police to perform a mental welfare check at her apartment, where officers determined that Mattingly, then 20, had been drinking. Mattingly claimed Webber had called police to get her into trouble and described their relationship as "toxic."
Mattingly did not reply to multiple messages from ESPN. But after Webber was arrested in March, a Facebook account bearing her name posted a message that appeared to reference their relationship, describing years of "anger," "control" and "abuse."
"You saw the version he wanted you to see. I saw the truth," the post states. "And just because he didn't show you that side doesn't mean it wasn't real."
Jezic said Webber "adamantly denies any domestic abuse" on his part.
One of the domestic violence petitions Webber filed in 2024 also mentions Wells, describing him as Mattingly's "new boyfriend" and suggesting that he had access to weapons. Mattingly confirmed in a March interview with TMZ that she briefly dated Wells after spending roughly four years with Webber.
Wells' relationship with Webber had been under strain more recently after they both dated Mattingly, according to Shammah O'Bryant, who said he had been friends with Wells since high school. But it is unclear if Mattingly is the woman police said Webber and Wells were arguing over before the fatal shooting. Gray, who was in the back seat, did not respond to multiple interview requests from ESPN. His co-worker has not been publicly identified.
ESPN also reached out to more than a dozen people who know Webber, including longtime friends and former cornhole partners, tournament hosts and competitors. Most were unresponsive, and others declined to talk.
THE RELATIONSHIP BETWEEN Webber and Wells will likely play a pivotal role as the murder case progresses. The two attended different high schools but were born weeks apart and had been friends for at least a decade, according to multiple people who knew them. One described them as "sandbox [friends]."
While it's unclear when or how Webber and Wells met, they shared several common interests, including motocross and guns. A former motocross racer, who requested anonymity due to the sensitivity of the matter, remembered seeing them both as kids at Budds Creek Motocross Park, though the person wasn't sure if they interacted there. The track posted a tribute to Wells on Facebook following the shooting but said it would have no further comment.
Wells' mother, Anita Stewart-Murchison, said she never met Webber but knew Wells always had "a soft spot" for his friend, sometimes helping Webber with cleaning at his house or washing his cars. In one instance, according to Stewart-Murchison, Wells drove Webber to urgent care when he was sick.
But she also said their friendship could be rocky at times, and she wonders now if Wells might have been "too trusting" of Webber.
"He trusted the fact that, 'Dayton wouldn't hurt me. We're just arguing like brothers do' or whatever," Stewart-Murchison said. "But some of their arguments I felt like might have been too serious, that they should've just severed and went their own ways."
At an April 1 bond hearing, Mitchell, the state prosecutor, referenced an incident between the two men in 2024. She said police were called to Webber's house after he asked Wells to leave his property, then allegedly fired a gunshot at Wells' vehicle from a second-story window. No charges were filed, she said.
Webber's attorneys said in court that their client only fired the gun in the air that day and emphasized that Webber is a legal gun owner with a concealed carry permit. They argued that Wells was violent and Webber was "terrified" of him on the day of the killing, citing unspecified witness reports of Wells having previously been aggressive towards Webber. Jezic said his team will present evidence to support those claims in court but declined to share documents with ESPN.
"Because Dayton was formerly very friendly with the decedent, he knew probably as well as anybody what an incredibly violent person the decedent was," Jezic said.
While Wells faced various criminal charges over the past decade, including marijuana possession, as well as 23 traffic violations, ESPN was unable to find any court records that contained allegations of violence.
In 2018, the family of a female high school student filed protective orders against Wells, then 19, alleging that he had been seeing their daughter without their permission, threatening them and stalking their home. Then, in late 2024, Wells fell asleep at a traffic light and was charged with driving while intoxicated after police found a bag of marijuana in his coat pocket. Officers also found an automatic rifle and a banana clip filled with ammunition in the car, according to an arrest report.
"He had a lot of legally owned guns," said Dontrell Agee, who said he had been friends with Wells since 2012. "That was his biggest thing: cars, bikes and guns."
Trinity Hughes, who became friends with Wells more recently, said he had a "hard shell" in terms of his persona. "But if you actually peek behind the shell, he's a soft person," she said.
In interviews with ESPN, she and others close to Wells recalled his love of motorcycles, trucks and pretty much anything with a motor. He had a unique taste in wheel designs and color schemes, they said, and the vehicles came to serve almost as extensions of his personality. He always had something customized, something different -- or, as one friend put it, "something nice."
The hobby apparently also helped Wells pay the bills. Three people said he was known to purchase a car or motorcycle, upgrade it and then sell it again on Facebook.
"He was really good at sales, man," longtime friend Jordan Proctor said. "We'd be out, he'd trade a car for a dirt bike and another car. He'd be on Marketplace all day long."
O'Bryant remembered Wells' love of go-go music and the rapper Money Man and described him as "a real food connoisseur." Stewart-Murchison said Wells also volunteered for the Waldorf Fire Department for several years and had considered taking an HVAC training course before his death. A message to the fire department was not returned.
Within the past year, Wells had also become a father. The baby's mother did not respond to interview requests from ESPN but wrote on Facebook that she was collecting photos and memories of Wells to share with their daughter when she's older.
Stewart-Murchison said she's been taking similar steps, gathering everything from his preschool awards to his CPR certifications in an effort to help the girl come to know her father, who was just 27 at the time of his death.
"It's been a hard one. That's all I can say," Stewart-Murchison said. "Because there's a part of him that's still here."
WEEKS AFTER THE SHOOTING, a white cross, flowers and miniature bottles of Don Julio tequila served as makeshift memorials on the side of Radio Station Road, near where the two witnesses in the Tesla flagged down police after fleeing the vehicle.
The writing on the cross reads: Bradrick Michael Wells. Forever 27.
Wells' mother is raising money to start a foundation in her son's name, which she hopes will raise awareness around gun violence and mental health. She said she is "partly still in denial" over Wells' death and disputes the idea that Webber had acted out of fear of her son.
"It's funny," she said. "I mean, if you were so afraid of him, why is he sitting in [the] passenger seat of your car?"
The weekend of the shooting, O'Bryant and Hughes said, Wells posted video clips of himself hanging out with Webber on Snapchat. ESPN could not verify the posts. Hughes said that she also spoke with Wells on FaceTime that weekend -- and that Webber took the phone during the call to ask how she was doing. "Dayton was smiling ear to ear that day," she said. "He was not afraid of that man."
Many of the other people close to Wells have grieved by telling each other stories about the man they lost -- and lamenting the way in which the alleged murder is being discussed. So many of the headlines and social media posts are about Webber, they believe, when the focus should be on Wells.
"I just want people to know: Brad was not a bad kid at all," Agee said. "Everybody has their ups and downs in life. Everybody struggles. But Brad did not deserve what happened to him."
Webber, meanwhile, was indicted last month on five misdemeanor weapons and reckless endangerment charges, in addition to the murder charge. He is being held without bond at the Charles County Detention Center, where officials said they would make accommodations for his disability. Matin, one of his attorneys, told local reporters that Webber is isolated at the jail and that the situation has been mentally difficult for him.
Webber's trial is scheduled to begin Sept. 28. With the case drawing as much attention as it has, Mitchell has said she anticipates a "lengthy jury selection" process.
While the case has drawn international headlines, it has also rattled the rural communities around southern Maryland, where both Webber and Wells had lived for their entire lives. Kasey Dunbar, a resident of the town where Wells' body was found, told ESPN that she worries the shooting has changed outside perceptions of the area.
"If you come here, you're going to meet the sweetest people. ... It's a beautiful place," she said. "And now it's just turned into a bit of a circus."
Many of those who know the two men involved are now just trying to understand how it came to this -- how a longtime friendship ended so violently, and so abruptly, along a winding rural road. One man is facing a life sentence. The other is dead. As Webber, then a teenage hunter, told a local newspaper: "Once the trigger goes, there is no taking back a bullet."
ESPN researcher John Mastroberardino contributed to this story.