Читать книгу Dead Secret - Ava McCarthy - Страница 15

For the next twenty hours, Jodie slogged through the prison routine: sitting tight through the cell count; lying on her bunk till lights out at ten; up at six, down to chow; on duty as porter from seven till two, cleaning the unit, her movements robotic; and all the while, her brain manic, replaying the risks over and over, rehashing all the things that could go wrong.

It was mid-afternoon before she got back to the art room, doubt still gnawing at her gut. She stared at the mannequin in her hands.

Her muscles felt rigid. Stupidly paralysed. She swore softly at herself. How hard could it be, for God’s sake? It wasn’t so different from her original plan. Except this time, she wanted to live.

It was Nate who’d given her the idea, with her talk of detox in the prison’s med unit. A unit that dealt mostly with cold-turkey and routine healthcare.

Jodie grasped the mannequin’s head and wrenched it off, peering into the hollow torso. The white cotton wads were still snugly packed inside. Her stomach dipped. Some part of her had been hoping the doll would be empty.

She reached for a pair of tweezers from Mrs Tate’s trays, using them to prise the wadding out onto the counter. A handful of Tylenol pills clattered out after it, the rest still wrapped up in cotton. Jodie unfolded the bundle, tipping the white oblongs into a pile. Thirty-six pills in total.

Her last plan had been easy: swallow the lot, the more the better. But this time, things weren’t so clear-cut. This time, she needed to strike a balance: swallow enough to get seriously ill, but not so many that they’d kill her.

She’d tried to research it in the prison library, tried to find a magic number that would keep her from tipping over the edge. But the few available medical textbooks were vague on the topic.

Jodie filled a beaker of water at the sink. Set it down beside the pills. Then she gripped the edge of the counter with both hands.

Just do it.

She gathered up half a dozen tablets, cupping them in the palm of her hand, staring at the white capsule-like shapes, at the Tylenol brand stamped in orange on the surface. She recalled what Momma Ruth had said about inmates who’d escaped: Mostly it happens while they’re being transported somewhere else.

She gripped the beaker. The prison med unit wasn’t equipped for emergency cases. It could handle detox and everyday complaints, but the serious stuff got shipped out. To the local hospital in Framingham, under CO escort.

Transported somewhere else.

Jodie stared at the pills. Stage one of a half-assed plan. Stage two, she’d figure out once she got to the hospital. Escaping from there had to be easier than breaking out of here.