The old Dodge pulled off the road at the edge of the field; bright moonlight spilled across the grasses, whitewashed the old plank fence. Jesse pushed his door open and climbed out, walked around to the front of the car and stood looking across the pasture for a few seconds.
In the passenger seat of the car, Amy sat with her head down, not moving, not looking up at him. Slowly, he went to the door and opened it. "You coming?" he asked her.
She raised her eyes. Her face was broad, childlike. "Yes," she said quietly. "I was just trying to get myself ready, that's all."
"You wanta change your mind, it's okay--we don't have to do this. We can drive on back, right now, we can just forget about the whole damn thing."
She shook her head, and her dark hair lashed at her shoulders. "No," she answered. "No, I want to go through with it. I'm sure, Jesse. I'm sure." She swung herself around, put her feet on the ground, got out of the car. For a few seconds she just stood there beside it, stretching her slender and delicate little body, looking around. Her dark eyes looked huge in the subdued light; the moonlight whitened her long and perfectly-shaped legs, exposed by her brief shorts, and the strip of bare midriff her tied top revealed.
Jesse took her hand. "Well," he said, a certain resignation in his tone, "let's go on, then."
She followed him as they crossed the narrow strip between the roadway and the fence; it was split-rail, not difficult to climb. He went over first, helped her down on the other side. "Where are we going?" she asked as they walked slowly through the grass.
He pointed, off to their left. "Over there," he told her. "Behind that grove of trees yonder. It's a private place, and it's right pretty."
She smiled slightly. "Good," she said. He reached out his hand to her again; she took it, and they walked on until they'd reached the spot he'd indicated.
Again, she stood looking around for a moment. Then her hands went to the knot that held her top tied; she undid it, pushed the top back over her shoulders. Her breasts were not terribly large, but they were high, firm, beautifully shaped. While Jesse stood admiring them, she pushed her shorts and underwear down together, stepping out of them; at last, she kicked off her shoes.
Naked, she knelt down in the grass, spreading her knees apart and placing a small hand on each one. She held her upper body quite erect, her breasts jutting out proudly. "We should get started," she said, her voice close to a whisper. "Right away, before I lose any of my nerve..."
Jesse took his own shirt off and tossed it on the ground a few yards away. "You're calling the shots," he told her. "What you want, that's what we're going to do." From a sheath on his belt he drew out a knife; bone-handled, double-edged, sharp, its four-inch steel blade glistening in the moonlight. She showed no sign of surprise or fear; she merely stared at it without saying anything. He sighed. "You sure, honey? You real sure?"
She'd begun to shiver a little even though the night was warm, but still, she nodded. "I'm sure, Jesse. I don't want to go on." Tears sprang to her eyes. "Not the way things are..."
He sighed again. "But honey, we don't have to do it the way you..."
She shook her head vigorously. "No. Like I told you, Jesse, like I told you."
"Okay--but we only get one shot at this, I don't want to fuck up. So you tell me now: what do you want me to do?" he asked her. "Exactly, what do you want me to do?"
Not looking at him, she ran both hands around her right breast, touching the nipple; it popped up, instantly erect. "Here," she said, her voice distant. Her hands were showing him the lower half of her breast, soft smooth skin, gently curving, bright in the moonlight. "Right here, I want you to stab me right here." She looked up at him, her eyes very wide, her face innocent and achingly lovely. "That'd be good, wouldn't it? It wouldn't kill me right away, would it?"
He shook his head sadly. "No, honey."
"Good." She dropped her right arm to her side limply, but kept her left hand on her breast, above the nipple.
He stepped around behind her. With the knife hanging loosely by his side, he reached around with his left hand to touch her breast gently; then, leaning down, he kissed her neck. She smiled, sighed, pushed her body against his, closed her eyes for a moment; his hand on her shoulder, he drew her bare back up tightly against his knees. Finally he brought the knife up, holding it in front of her, an arm's length away. The point was aimed at her chest, the blade angled back a little toward his forearm. "You real sure, honey?" he asked again. "Be real sure, there ain't no backing out after I do this!"
She was looking down at her own breast. "I'm real sure, Jesse," she answered, though her voice was almost inaudible. "I'm real sure. Go ahead, do it. I want you to."
He bit his lip, hesitated for just a moment. Then, suddenly and violently, he drove the knife into her.
There was a dull thud and a ripping sound; Amy's body spasmed, and she grunted loudly. Half of the blade had pierced her breast; blood, appearing dark in the moonlight, immediately began to trace down her body. Once the blade was in her he held it quite still, waiting.
She started to double over it, but he held her shoulder tightly with his left hand, clamping her back against his knees, bracing her body. Tears ran from her eyes. "Oh, Jesse," she moaned, "oh, God, oh, please, oh, please..."
"What?" he demanded, his lips close to her ear. "What, please what?"
"I don't know... it hurts, oh God it hurts..." She raised her hand, laid it lightly on his forearm, and stared at the knife. "Can't you get it in any deeper?"
He responded to that instantly, holding her shoulder and grinding the knife on in. Gasping, she banged her head back against his thighs, her eyes and mouth very wide. There were new tearing noises as he forced the blade on into her breast, deeper and deeper. As the steel vanished into her flesh, more and more of her blood forced its way out around it.
"You want me to twist it?" he asked her. "It'll speed things up..."
"No," she managed to say. Foamy blood had already made its appearance on her lips. "No, just pull it straight out, just pull it out of me now."
Nodding even though she could not see, he started extracting it; her skin clung to it persistently, but it eventually came free. Blood gushed out, a river of it running down from the wound. Her breathing was already very ragged, very labored.
He gripped her shoulder tightly, holding her body firmly against his knees. "Amy, honey, there's no need for you to do it this way--why don't you just let me finish it, I can, you can be--"
"No," she said, cutting him off. "No, my way, do it my way! I want to know I'm dying, I want to know it, I want to feel it...!"
"You're dying now!"
She twisted her head, looked at him. "Stab me again, Jesse," she begged, her eyes full of tears. "Again!" She looked back down at herself and passed her hand over her lower belly, under her navel. "Right here, right here. Stab me here, ah God, put your knife in my belly, I want it in my belly, do it to me, get it in deep!"
He sighed, but he leaned over her again, holding the now-bloody knife in the same manner as before. He didn't wait for her to ask again, he slammed the knife into her abdomen, driving it far into her.
She grabbed his wrist. "Ahhh! God, oh God, God! Oh, God, Jesse! I can't, I just--ohhhh...!" Again she started doubling over it; this time, when he pulled her back up, she began to fall sideways. Giving it up, he helped her to lie down softly, on her left side, in the grass. The knife, meanwhile, remained deep in her belly. Blood ran from around it and ran from her anus, as well. She pulled her legs up, curling into an almost fetal position.
"You had enough?" he asked her, bending over her. "You had enough, you want me to finish this?"
She turned her head toward him, blinked her eyes several times. "No," she insisted, though her voice was weak and thready. "No, I don't want you to finish it, Jesse. I can't help crying out, I'm trying but I can't. It doesn't change anything, nothing at all. Pull the knife out of me, Jesse. Pull it out and stab me again."
He looked almost as pained as she did. "Honey, are you sure? I mean, you've already--"
"Please, Jesse," she begged, putting her head back down. "Please, just do it, do it for me..."
Careful to keep his pants away from the blood she was lying in, he put his hand on her side and wrapped his fingers around the hilt of the knife. Delicately, he began extracting it from her belly; she moaned again, pulled her legs up tighter.
He squeezed her shoulder. "You tell me," he said. "Where do you want it?"
"Do it in my side," she told him after a moment's hesitation. "That'll be all right, just do it in my side."
"I can't do it like I was doing it before. If I stab hard your blood'll splatter, I'll get it all over me. I'd have to do it--slower. That'll be bad for you, Amy."
"It doesn't matter. Just do it, however you have to. If I cry, ignore it."
He sighed. "You called it, honey. I'll do it like you say, best I can." Crouching beside her, he brought the knife down against her side, just under her ribs. Holding it like he was cutting a piece of steak, he made a short deep incision in her skin. She winced but said nothing. "It'll go in easier," he told her, "if your skin's already cut."
With his left hand pressing on her ribs, he nudged the point of the knife into the cut he'd just made; then he pushed down on it, hard, and it started sinking into her body once again.
She pulled herself up tighter as it slipped in. "Ahh-ah!" she cried. "AH! Oh, Jesse, God, oh, no no, don't stop, oh God...!"
Frowning, shaking his head, he pushed on, watching the blood well up and out as the blade went deeper and deeper. Once the finger guards touched her skin he began pulling it back and out; when the blade came free it looked like a little fountain, the blood bubbling up and flowing down across her back.
She laid quite still, her eyes wide open. "I feel so cold..." she murmured. Her chest was heaving irregularly, and her blood continued to flow unabated. "So cold. It isn't hurting much any more, Jesse. I'm not going to last much longer, I don't think..." She sighed, a long rattling sound. "Once more, that'll do it, I'm sure..."
He sighed again too. "Where?" he asked her.
"I don't think it matters very much..."
He brought the knife down against her side again, higher this time, up alongside her still-bleeding breast. As before, he used the edge first, making a short incision between two of her ribs. To this she reacted almost not at all. As before, he put the point of the knife back into the cut he'd already made; after a moment's hesitation, he started pushing down on it.
Amy didn't cry out; her mouth opened, and she extended one of her legs, but she didn't even grunt as the knife slipped back into her for the fourth time. Jesse didn't ask questions, he just forced it on in, once again burying the blade in her body. For a few seconds he left it there, then he pulled it free. Foamy blood welled out; this wound made a whistling sound when she tried to breathe.
Laying the knife aside, he touched her shoulder. "You want more?" he asked.
She turned her eyes toward him, did not move her head. "I don't," she managed haltingly, "think it's necessary. Hold my hand, Jesse. Just hold my hand."
He did as she asked; she closed her eyes, sighed again. After a moment a long shudder ran through her body, and after that she was still. He felt her throat, searching for a pulse. Then, raising her head by her hair, he cut deeply into her throat. There was almost no bleeding, but he continued, cutting deeply, making sure. Finished at last, he left her corpse where it was, cleaned his knife and hands on the grass, put his shirt on, and made his way back across the moonlit field.