Chapter 93: The Town Meeting Riot
The town hall was already packed when Elijah arrived, bodies squeezed shoulder-to-shoulder, voices buzzing like an angry beehive. He felt the tension before he even stepped inside—one of those thick, electric atmospheres where everyone seemed to be holding their breath and shouting at the same time.
Tom stood at the doorway with two deputies, jaw tight, trying to keep order.
“Elijah,” Tom muttered, “turn around. Go home. This place is a matchbox.”
“I’m his lawyer,” Elijah said. “I have every right to be here.”
Tom grabbed his arm. “This isn’t a meeting. It’s a storm.”
“And storms pass,” Elijah replied, pulling free. “Let me through.”
Inside, the air felt hot, loud, ugly. People held signs:
NOAH IS A KILLER
WARD BRINGS TROUBLE
KEEP OUR TOWN SAFE
Others shouted the opposite:
FREE NOAH
STOP THE COVER-UP
JUSTICE FOR LANDON
It wasn’t a forum anymore. It was a battlefield.
The mayor stood at the front, red-faced, hands raised. “Everyone! Please—”
No one listened.
The roar swallowed him.
Elijah slipped toward the stage. Someone noticed him. Then another. The sound shifted like a tide turning.
“There he is!”
“The lawyer!”
“The outsider!”
“Elijah Ward, the one defending both criminals!”
Elijah stiffened. “I’m defending two boys who never had a fair chance.”
A man near the front spat on the floor. “We don’t want your big-city morals here.”
A woman shouted, “You’re tearing this town apart!”
Another yelled, “Go back where you came from!”
Then someone screamed, “HE’S THE REASON LANDON’S KILLER MIGHT WALK!”
The room erupted.
People surged forward. Chairs toppled. Someone threw a water bottle that smacked Elijah’s shoulder. Tom tried to push through the crowd, shouting for calm.
“EVERYONE BACK UP!” Tom bellowed. “MOVE!”
No one moved.
A teenager climbed onto a chair and pointed at Elijah. “This whole mess started when he came back!”
Elijah’s voice rose above the noise. “You’re angry at the wrong person! Ask your mayor about the hush money! Ask your judge about the secrecy! Ask why—”
A glass bottle shattered against the wall behind him.
The crowd screamed.
Tom cursed under his breath. “Elijah, get down!”
A group pushed forward, fists raised. Elijah stumbled back, bracing for impact—but several people shoved him behind a podium.
“Don’t let them touch him!” someone shouted.
The factions collided like two waves crashing.
People screaming.
People swinging.
People falling.
The mayor shouted uselessly. Deputies tried to separate bodies but were quickly overwhelmed.
Someone pulled a gun.
The sound cut through everything—a metallic click amplified by fear.
“NO GUNS!” Tom shouted. “PUT THAT DOWN!”
But panic had already seized the room. People trampled each other trying to escape. Chairs clattered, windows rattled. Someone shoved Elijah hard, nearly sending him to the floor.
He grabbed the podium for balance.
“Everybody STOP!” Elijah yelled. “LISTEN! PLEASE—”
Bang.
Silence swallowed the room for a split second, thick and horrifying.
A man collapsed near the front row, clutching his chest. Blood spread across his shirt like ink in water. His wife screamed, a sound so sharp Elijah felt it slice the air.
Tom rushed forward, sliding to his knees. “Call the ambulance! NOW!”
People scrambled, cried, fell over each other. The shooter vanished into the chaos.
Elijah stood frozen.
He saw the man’s eyes staring at the ceiling, wild, unfocused.
He saw the wife trying to hold her husband’s face.
He saw deputies fighting through bodies, trying to reach the exit.
And then he heard it.
A voice behind him. Cold. Clear. Certain.
“This is on you.”
Elijah turned.
A middle-aged woman glared at him, tears streaming down her face.
“My son died tonight because you keep dragging our wounds open,” she said. “If you never came back… none of this would’ve happened.”
People around her nodded, murmuring, glaring at Elijah with anger that felt like heat on his skin.
“It’s his fault.”
“He pushed too far.”
“He keeps stirring trouble.”
“He made the town explode.”
“Elijah Ward brought chaos.”
Elijah backed up a step, throat tightening. “I didn’t— I’m trying to help—”
“Help?” another man shouted. “You’re DESTROYING US!”
Tom stood up, blood on his hands, face drained. He locked eyes with Elijah.
“Get out of here,” Tom whispered. “Now.”
“But—”
“GO.”
Elijah hesitated.
Tom’s voice hardened. “If they turn on you fully, I can’t protect you.”
Elijah swallowed the bitterness clawing up his throat and pushed through the panicked crowd. People stepped back sharply, as if he carried disease.
Someone muttered, “Murder follows him.”
Someone else whispered, “He cursed this place.”
Outside, the cold air hit him like a slap.
He leaned against the railing, chest heaving.
Inside the building, screams continued echoing. Sirens wailed in the distance. Riot lights flickered off the windows.
And then his phone buzzed.
A text.
Unknown Number:
“Chaos suits you. You were always meant to tear this town apart.”
Elijah stared at the message, heart pounding.
Someone was playing the long game.
Someone wanted Briar Ridge burning from the inside.
And they wanted Elijah blamed for every spark.
He sank onto the cold steps, dragging a trembling hand over his face.
The town had always been fragile.
Now it was bleeding.
And they had chosen their villain.
Him.