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Kill #26 - Kitt Fit Kill, Part III

Before his fiancée Lauren had left for Los Angeles, she and Nick had made a list of home improvement projects he was going to finish while she was gone. One of his tasks was to build a fire pit in the backyard, so they’d be able to enjoy bonfires on cool summer nights. Nick had started digging the pit on the day Lauren left, though he didn’t exactly stick to her plan. By the time he had finished, the pit was eight feet deep - the perfect place to keep a prisoner.

That was how his third weight-loss contestant, Cassie, had come to be bound and gagged at the bottom of the giant hole in his backyard.

He had dumped her there on the first day of the “competition,” telling her, “Calorie restriction is a surefire way to lose weight.” He had been slowly starving her for the past six days, letting her drink from the garden hose to keep her from getting dehydrated. But Lauren would be back that night to spend the weekend with him, so Nick knew he needed to finish the job.

He left the Q Lazzarus song “Goodbye Horses” blaring through his open windows as he walked out to the backyard, his dog Nacho trotting at his heels. The sun was high in the sky, shining straight down on the girl in the fire pit. “Looks like you’re getting burnt!” he called down to her.

The gag in her mouth kept Cassie from responding, but the tears trickling down her red face were evidence enough of her misery.

“Here… put on some sunscreen!” He dropped a spray bottle of Banana Boat into a bucket, which he lowered into the pit with a rope.

Burying her face in her hands, Cassie turned away from him. He could see the skin peeling from her blistered back.

“It sprays the lotion on its skin. It does this whenever it’s told,” Nick commanded.

Cassie continued to ignore him.

“It sprays the lotion on its skin, or else it gets the hose again!” Nick threatened loudly, brandishing the garden hose. Nacho let out a yip of excitement, thinking it was time to play. Like his master, the pug loved water. “Yes she will, Nacho, she will get the hose!” Nick cooed in baby talk, scratching his dog behind the ears.

The threat worked. Still crying, Cassie sprayed the sunscreen all over her corpulent body, rubbing it in with shaking hands.

“Now it places the lotion in the bucket,” said Nick when she was finished.

Cassie resisted, clutching the bottle in her trembling hand.

“It places the lotion in the bucket,” Nick repeated, knowing time was running short. When she still refused, he screamed, “Put the fucking lotion in the bucket!”

Finally, his victim did as she was told. He hauled the bucket of sunscreen out of the hole and set it aside.

“I can tell you’ve already shed some weight just by sticking to a no-calorie diet!” he called, looking down into the fire pit. “But you know, diet alone won’t do it. You need to exercise, too. You said you like to work out to my song ‘Burning Up,’ right?” He struck a match and held it over the edge for her to see. “Well, get ready to burn some calories, babe!”

Right on cue, the next track on his playlist had begun. “I’m burning up,” he heard his own voice sing over the driving club beat. With a sinister smile, he let go of the lit match.

As soon as the match dropped into the hole, he heard a muffled scream and watched his victim erupt in flames. The sunscreen spray, which was flammable when wet, acted as an accelerant, causing the fire to spread quickly over her skin. She danced around frantically, flailing her fiery arms, as he watched in amusement from above, his song playing in the background. “This club... is so high... and you light it up; it’s ready to blow. Hands up... Don’t stop... If you’re sexy, then get out of control.”

He couldn’t help but chant along. “Let’s get fired up! Get, get fired up! Let’s get fired up! Get, get fired up! Let’s get fired up! Get, get fired up! Let’s get fired up! Get, get fired up! Sing it with me now!” he called down into the hole. “I’m burning up... and up! I’m burning up... and up! So all you sexy people burn it up!”

The flames worked quickly. By the time the song was finished, the smell of burnt meat hung in the air, and the girl called Cassie had been reduced to a pile of smoldering remains. “Look how many inches you lost!” Nick called into the pit. “You go, girl!” Then he got his shovel and started scooping the pile of loose soil back into the pit, smothering the fire.

When the fire pit was finished, he took a picture of himself standing in front of it, his smiling face streaked with sweat and dirt. Along with the photo, he tweeted:

Nick Carter @nickcarter
Burned a shitload of calories digging this fire pit for me & Lo! Maybe now she’ll let me make s'mores. Not 2 many tho…gotta stay #KittFit!

Lauren came back to find a roaring bonfire in the new fire pit. “Nick, this is awesome!” she exclaimed as she walked into the backyard. “I’m impressed!” She paused to sniff the air. “Have you been cooking on the fire? I smell meat.”

Nick shifted a log to cover up the femur he could see sticking up from the flames, its flesh melted away. He couldn’t tell if it was Amanda’s or Becca’s; they’d both made excellent firewood. Smiling innocently at his fiancée, he replied, “Just hot dogs. And before you say anything, I know they’re bad for me, but after all the calories I burnt building this thing, I figured I could indulge a little tonight. Want one?” He held up his roasting stick, speared with two hot dogs.

Lauren wrinkled her nose and shook her head. “No thanks, I’ll pass. I have to stay… Kitt Fit!” she quipped with a wink. “By the way,” she added, dropping down into the empty lawn chair beside him, “I enjoyed all your tweets this week. Thanks for helping our fans find productive ways to get Kitt Fit, too!”

“No problem, babe. It was my pleasure,” said Nick, gazing hungrily into the flames. Killing fans was a lot like losing weight, he mused. Even when he saw results, he was never satisfied, and his work was never done.

Twenty-six down… so many more to go.

Chapter End Notes:

I hope you enjoyed the Kitt Fit Kill trilogy! The fans I used in these three chapters were just fictional, not based on real people.