MISCHA HELD HER breath and kept walking toward Laure as if nothing went wrong, just doing her job. The guard sitting in the corner, an older woman named Alison, got to her feet as Henriette walked briskly in Mischa's direction.316Please respect copyright.ＰＥＮＡＮＡG9BeRPsh0C
"Here you go," said Mischa to Laure, who preferred English. Her heart was slamming against her chest.
But Henriette walked past her, shouting at two of the inmates near the far corner, near the secured room. Apparently they were having a minor argument and had squared off. Henriette had seen it on the security camera. She seemed pissed off that Alison, inside this room, hadn't noticed.
Mischa let out her breath. She handed Nurse Laure the ceftriaxone and the capped syringe. She didn't check or even look at her other hand----where she had palmed the other vial. Nor did she ask her to lift up her shirt so she could see whether she had slipped a syringe inside the waistband. Why would she? She was too busy with this inmate's urinary tract infection, and she'd long ago earned her trust. Besides, she knew as well as anyone that there were twenty ways you'd get caught if you tried to sneak drugs out of the infirmary.
The difference here was, she had no intention of sneaking this syringe out of the infirmary.
Laure unwrapped the syringe cover, uncapped it, filled up the syringe, and injected the drug into the patient's thigh. Then she recapped the syringe and handed everything back to me.
Mischa returned to the pharmacy, where she put the two vials of drugs back where she got them and disposed of the used syringe in the sharps container mounted on the wall.
She occupied her time collecting some used towels on the floor, mopping up a mess, all the while hiding a syringe full of narcotics in her waistband.
So far, so good!
Thirty minutes later, Nurse Laure requested another drug. Mischa repeated the same procedure to the letter. It worked the first time, so why not a second?
So now she had two syringes full of drugs for her own use tucked in her pants.
Mischa went into the secured area, where the five individual beds were placed for special cases----people with contagious infections or those who posed security risks. It was behind a locked door, but for the time being nobody was in those beds, so the door was left ajar. Her job was to put fresh linens on the beds.
Her eyes usually glanced up at the security camera in the corner. The small red light in the bottom corner was glowing, meaning the camera was on. She started with the bed in the far corner, the one farthest from the camera. When she tucked in the sheets under the mattress, she made a point of bending at the knees and shoving her hands far under the mattress. It was probably not necessary, but that was beside the point. Her purpose was to make it seem that this was her standard way of making a bed, so when the guard watching the security camera saw her do it with the first bed, then the second, then the third and forth, she wouldn't be surprised----or suspicious----when she did it with the fifth bed, the one closest to the security camera.316Please respect copyright.ＰＥＮＡＮＡaf4HSnKKlX
Even if the guard were closely monitoring Mischa's actions, which she doubted, it would have been highly unlikely that she would have noticed that she was tucking two syringes full of narcotics into a small space under the bed where the two reinforcement bars overlapped.316Please respect copyright.ＰＥＮＡＮＡhBaW1x2FFL
Almost half a year working in the prison hospital taught Mischa a few things.316Please respect copyright.ＰＥＮＡＮＡ1jrgq4jGM1
It might just save her life, too.316Please respect copyright.ＰＥＮＡＮＡ5alWBusXFe
She would find out soon enough.316Please respect copyright.ＰＥＮＡＮＡ5J0tlCyoES
