Chapter 198: The Rain That Wouldn’t Stop

The day of Judith Radsford’s burial came draped in cold rain and silence. The clouds hung low and heavy, their color a dull gray that seemed to soak into everything, the grass, the casket, the people who stood there. It was the kind of day that made even the living look ghostly. No relatives, no friends, no business associates had come. Only her mother stood there, hunched beneath a black shawl, holding a damp handkerchief that had long lost its use. Judith had burned too many bridges, cut too many ties, and by the time her story ended, forgiveness was an unreachable thing even in death.

The rain fell without mercy, steady and cold, tapping endlessly against the canopy that shielded the open grave. Each drop struck with a rhythm that filled the silence between the priest’s words. Beneath that canopy, Judith’s casket lay surrounded by flowers, white lilies, pale roses, and a few wilted petals that the wind carried away. Framed photographs of her younger self were arranged neatly on a small table beside it. There she was: a laughing girl in a summer dress, sunlight in her hair; a confident young woman in a red gown; and a smiling wife beside Rex, her arm looped through his, eyes bright with hope. But now, all those images felt like distant ghosts—reminders of someone who had long vanished before her body did.

Rex stood a little way off, under an umbrella that King held over him. His black suit clung to his shoulders, already soaked through, and his tie hung loose as though he’d given up trying to look composed. Rain streaked down his face, mixing with tears he didn’t bother to hide. King stood beside him, silent, his jaw set tight. On the other side stood Romeo Dukeson and Michael Dane, his oldest friends, their heads bowed, hands clasped in front of them. They hadn’t come for Judith. They had come for Rex. The rest of the world had already turned its back, leaving only this small circle of men standing in the storm. The rest of the world had already turned the page.

The priest’s voice rose above the rain in soft, measured tones. “Ashes to ashes, dust to dust…” The words fell flat in the cold air, almost drowned by the pounding rain. His book was already damp, pages curling at the edges. Each phrase sounded like an echo, fading into the wet earth. When the casket began to lower into the ground, the ropes creaked softly. Rex’s chest tightened. He couldn’t bring himself to step forward, couldn’t even move. He just stood there, watching, feeling as if every inch the casket descended took a part of him with it.

King placed a firm hand on his shoulder. “Let’s go, Rex,” he said quietly. “It’s over.”

But Rex didn’t move. His lips parted, but his voice was hoarse and broken. “How do I tell her mother,” he whispered, “that I failed her daughter? That I couldn’t love her the way she wanted? That I made her into this? I haven’t exactly told her the truth about everything.”

King said nothing at first. He looked down at the muddy ground, rain dripping from his coat and hair. When he finally spoke, his voice was low. “You didn’t make her that way, Rex. Judith was… lost long before all this. She kept running toward something that was never real.”

Rex shook his head weakly, staring at the lowering casket. “Maybe. But I pushed her further. Every time she tried to reach for me, I gave her nothing. I left her alone, even when she was beside me. And now—” He swallowed hard, the words trembling out. “Now this is what’s left. An empty space where she used to be.”

No one answered him. The priest finished his prayer, crossed himself, and stepped away. The few attendants who had come to help cover the grave began to gather their tools, moving quietly, their boots squelching in the wet grass. The sound of shovels meeting mud was the only thing that followed. One by one, they left, their umbrellas bobbing through the mist until the cemetery looked almost empty.

Judith’s mother stayed where she was, kneeling in front of the casket, her tears mixing with the rain. Her hands trembled as she reached out, touching the polished surface that was already slick with water. She whispered something, her lips moving, but her voice was too soft to hear. Perhaps it was a prayer. Perhaps it was an apology. Or maybe it was just the kind of quiet grief that had no words at all.

Rex finally turned, his chest heavy, his heart hollow. The image of Judith’s mother kneeling there burned into him. He knew that sight would never leave his memory, that woman alone under the trembling canopy, the mound of wet soil beside her, the flowers beaten down by rain, and the pictures on the small table beginning to curl at the edges. That was all that remained of Judith Radsford, a handful of fading images and the echo of her mother’s sobs.

King followed his gaze, then placed a hand at his back, guiding him toward the car. “Come on,” he said softly. “You’ve done what you can.”

Rex didn’t answer. He let himself be led away, his shoes sinking slightly into the muddy ground with each step. Behind him, the priest closed his book and gave one last nod to the woman still kneeling by the grave. There was nothing more to say, nothing that could make sense of it.

As Rex and the others reached the car, he stopped once more and looked back. The rain had thickened, falling harder now, washing away the footprints that had marked the grass. Judith’s mother remained there, unmoving. Her black shawl clung to her shoulders, and her gray hair, soaked and heavy, stuck to her face. Her grief seemed endless, as if even the storm could not outlast it.

King opened the car door and waited silently. Romeo and Michael stood a few feet away, their umbrellas trembling in the wind. None of them spoke. When Rex finally stepped inside, his hands trembled as he reached to close the door, his knuckles pale against the dark leather.

The ride from the cemetery was long and quiet. The only sound was the rain hammering against the windows. Rex leaned his head against the seat and watched the gray world blur past. His reflection in the glass looked unfamiliar, tired, older, almost empty.

King kept his eyes on the road, glancing occasionally at Rex through the rearview mirror. “You did what you could,” he said again, as if repeating it might make it true.

Rex shook his head. “No,” he murmured. “I didn’t. I didn’t stop her. I didn’t listen to her cries for help. I thought she’d change if I just kept my distance, if I stayed cold enough. She’d get the message and move on. But all I did was make her colder.” He let out a shaky breath. “She wanted to be loved, only by me. That’s all she ever wanted.”

King said nothing. He tightened his grip on the wheel.

Outside, the rain showed no sign of stopping. The city streets were nearly empty, the puddles deep enough to reflect the faint glow of streetlights. Everything looked washed out, muted, colorless, like a painting left out in the storm.

Rex turned away from the window and stared at his hands. “She wasn’t always like this,” he whispered, almost to himself. “When we first met, she was… kind. Ambitious. She had this way of smiling at people that made them feel like they mattered. I remember thinking she could light up a room.” He paused, then his voice broke. “And then I took that from her. Every time I compared her to someone else. Every time I made her feel small.”

King exhaled deeply, his voice quiet but steady. “You can’t change what’s done, Rex. You can only live with it.”

Rex nodded faintly, though his expression didn’t change. His eyes stayed fixed on the rain as it slid down the window in endless streams. Somewhere in the distance, thunder rolled faintly across the sky.

When they reached the end of the road, King parked near the old gates that led out of the cemetery grounds. Rex looked back once more. Through the mist, he could still see the faint shape of the canopy, the flicker of movement from Judith’s mother kneeling beside the grave. The sight tore something inside him, but he didn’t get out. He just sat there, staring until the rain blurred everything into nothing but gray.

The world outside seemed to dissolve, swallowed by the steady rhythm of the downpour. And still, the rain didn’t stop. It fell as if the sky itself was mourning, as if even heaven refused to forgive.

When King finally drove away, the road shimmered beneath the downpour, stretching endlessly ahead. Behind them, Judith Radsford was laid to rest in the quiet cold earth, surrounded by the only company she had left—flowers, photographs, and the sound of the rain that would not end.

And somewhere deep inside the car, as the wipers moved back and forth, Rex whispered to himself, barely loud enough for anyone to hear:

“I’m sorry.”

But the rain drowned his voice. It had always drowned everything.