The Capture of Anita

The early stages of the plan to neutralize Anita were set into motion.

Anita stirred groggily, her head pounding from the previous night’s indulgence. The faint taste of wine lingered on her tongue, her stomach twisting with regret. Memories of harsh words and hasty decisions from the previous night flickered through her mind, each one amplifying the weight in her chest. Every movement felt like a monumental effort, as though her body was punishing her for the choices that had led her here. Anita couldn’t shake the thought: How did it come to this? The question gnawed at her, feeding the growing unease that made each step toward the kitchen feel heavier than the last. By the time she dragged herself out of bed, it was already 10 a.m., her body protesting with each sluggish step. Her robe hung loosely from her shoulders, and her disheveled hair framed a face etched with exhaustion, the weight of a restless night evident in her features.

She shuffled into the kitchen, the dim morning light casting long shadows across the room. The faint hum of the coffee maker broke the heavy silence, a small but welcome reprieve from the throbbing in her skull. As she poured herself a cup, the rich aroma wafted through the air, momentarily soothing her frayed nerves. Yet, beneath that brief comfort, a gnawing unease took root, an inexplicable heaviness pressing down on her chest. Her fingers tightened around the mug as a cold shiver ran through her. Something’s not right, she thought, her breath catching as the thought lingered, sharp and foreboding.

She glanced around, noticing the absence of her children. Kiana had mentioned something about spending the day at her new fitness studio, and Malik was probably with Ryan or Diego, lost in a marathon of video games. For a moment, Anita allowed herself a fleeting sense of relief—at least the house was quiet.

Her phone buzzed incessantly on the counter, its screen illuminated with a flood of missed calls and messages. She frowned, setting her coffee down to unlock it. Notifications from Laura, Rachel, and several unknown numbers filled the display. Headlines flashed in her mind: Garrett Silver attacked—hospitalized—suspects involved. Her stomach churned as she tried to piece together what had happened.

"What... is going on?" she murmured, scrolling through the frantic updates. Panic began to set in, but before she could make sense of it all, she froze.

The sound of footsteps behind her sent a jolt through Anita’s body, her grip tightening on the coffee mug until her knuckles turned white. The ceramic edges dug painfully into her palms as her heart began to race. The quiet hum of the refrigerator now seemed unnervingly loud, blending with the faint creak of the floorboards. Her breath quickened, each shallow inhale feeling heavier than the last. Beads of sweat formed at her temples as a chill ran down her spine, the oppressive silence wrapping around her like a vice. Who could it be? she thought, her mind spiraling as the steps grew louder, each one reverberating through her chest like a warning. The ceramic edges dug into her palms as her pulse quickened. The kitchen suddenly felt suffocating, the faint hum of the refrigerator now a sinister drone. Her breath hitched, and beads of sweat formed on her forehead. She turned her head slightly, every movement slow and deliberate, her heart thundering in her chest as if warning her of the unseen threat creeping closer.

Anita turned slowly, her breath hitching as she saw Moana, Bree, and Latoya standing in her kitchen. Their expressions were cold, resolute. Moana’s lips curved into a tight, humorless smile as she stepped forward.

"Oh, Anita," Moana began, her voice dripping with disdain. "You stupid, foolish woman. You thought you could harm my beloved and get away with it? Not a chance."

Before Anita could react, Bree and Latoya moved swiftly, grabbing her arms and forcing her into a chair. Anita struggled, her protests muffled as Moana shoved a gag into her mouth and secured it tightly. Ropes followed, binding her wrists and ankles to the sturdy wooden chair. The panic in Anita’s eyes grew as Moana stepped back, admiring their work.

Moana pulled out her phone, typing a quick message. "Come in," she said aloud, her voice calm and assured. "She’s ready."

The front door creaked open moments later, and Garrett entered the house, supported by Amina and Red Elk. He paused in the doorway, his sharp gaze sweeping the room. A faint smirk tugged at his lips as he looked around.

"Ah, this house," Garrett said, his tone almost conversational. "It’s been a long time since I’ve been here. Since you took Malik and Jade and turned them against me."

He stepped closer, his eyes narrowing as he stared at Anita’s gagged face. "You know, Anita, I should thank you," he continued. "You planted the seeds of my hatred, the foundation for everything I’ve been building scine i´m in your institution."

Garrett’s voice grew colder, more deliberate. His jaw tightened as his hands clasped behind his back, a gesture of barely contained rage. He began to pace slowly, his movements deliberate, as though each step was a reminder of the power he now held. "If you’d simply expelled me, maybe I would’ve moved to Texas or somewhere else and lived a quiet life. But no," he said, his voice dropping, laced with venom, "you and your ilk had to push me, to ‘reform’ me, to strip me of everything I had left."

He paused, turning sharply to face Anita, his gaze piercing and unrelenting. "You turned me into what I am today," he continued, his tone shifting into something almost triumphant, as though savoring the poetic justice. His lips curled into a cold smile, the faint glint of triumph in his narrowed eyes betraying his satisfaction. "And now? Now, you’ll be the first to fall." And now? Now, you’ll be the first to fall."

He leaned closer, his voice dropping to a near whisper. "What should I do with Malik? Maybe I’ll mold him into something useful. And Jade? She’s always been so beautiful, such a goddess of fitness. Perhaps I’ll turn her into a trophy—a perfect little bimbo to parade around."

Anita’s muffled screams grew louder as Garrett straightened. "And you?" he continued. "You’re important, Anita. You’re going to make White Hollow what it was always meant to be: a foundation for the power of the white man. You tried to reeducate us, to make us your allies. Now, we’ll make you into what you were meant to be—our servant, our ****, groveling at the feet of those you sought to destroy."

Garrett smiled faintly. "Poetic, isn’t it? Your ambitions, your hatred, turned into devotion. And do you know why I’m telling you this? Because soon, you won’t remember any of it."

Garrett turned to Bree. "Prepare the CVI," he ordered. "Let’s get started."

Bree nodded, pulling the small device from her bag. The faint hum of the machine filled the room, its subtle vibrations almost imperceptible but undeniably present. As the display lit up, Anita’s struggles began to falter, her breathing growing shallow and uneven, each gasp punctuated by a faint tremor in her frame. Her body jerked erratically, as though caught between resistance and surrender, every movement growing more sluggish with each passing second. Her eyes fluttered wildly, a chaotic dance of defiance and submission, before settling into a glassy, vacant stare. The corners of her mouth twitched behind the gag, an involuntary moan breaking free as her muscles slackened.

The CVI’s relentless rhythm seemed to echo through her very being, its oppressive presence pressing down on her psyche like a crushing weight. Thoughts slipped away like sand through her fingers, leaving her mind adrift in an expanding void. Garrett’s piercing gaze bore into her, his expression a mix of cold calculation and grim satisfaction. He took a step closer, watching intently as the last remnants of her will dissolved, her once fiery spirit extinguished in silence.

"Good," Garrett said, his voice low. "Now, have her write a note to her children. Something simple—she’s leaving till the day after tomorrow. Then pack her some clothes and send a text to Kiana and Malik explaining her sudden absence."

Moana moved swiftly, her sharp eyes scanning every corner of the room for anything of value. She rifled through a drawer, her fingers brushing over scattered documents before pulling out a folder labeled "Confidential." As she flipped through it, her thoughts raced. This could be leverage—she won’t even know what hit her. Moving to Anita’s desk, she spotted a sleek laptop and immediately powered it down, tucking it under her arm.

As she worked, a mix of emotions churned within her—satisfaction at seeing Anita’s carefully constructed world begin to crumble, and a deeper sense of purpose. For a fleeting moment, Moana recalled how she once thought like Anita, confident in her own superiority, blind to the harm she inflicted on others. But Garrett had opened her eyes, shown her the flaws in her beliefs, and given her something she never realized she needed—a purpose tied to him.

You always looked down on him, she thought, her grip tightening on the laptop. But look where that’s gotten you. The faint smirk on her lips grew as she imagined the chaos this would bring. "I’ll grab her laptop and any important files," she said, her voice steady. As she paused, glancing briefly at Anita’s restrained form, a flicker of anger surged within her. You almost took him from me. For that, you’ll pay dearly. You always thought you were untouchable, Anita. Let’s see how long that lasts.

Garrett nodded, though his expression tightened. His stitches were starting to pull, the pain making his movements stiff. Red Elk stepped forward, steadying him with practiced ease.

"Let’s get you back to the car," she murmured, her tone firm but gentle.

Amina stayed close, her gaze filled with concern. "I’ll help," she said softly. "You shouldn’t push yourself, my strong Boy."

As Red Elk and Amina guided him outside, Garrett paused at the door, glancing back at the restrained Anita. "Finish this quickly," he instructed Moana. "I want her ready by the time we’re at White Hollow."

He stepped into the car, his voice cold and resolute as he muttered, "This is only the beginning."