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I stand there, my hands covered in blood, my heart racing.
Saving the life of a bank robber was never on my list of reasons to become a doctor, but it’s a vow you take when you become one. First, do no harm. Second, save every life you can.
Once the robbers disappear through the entrance, a grey-haired man in a pinstripe suit stands up and calls out to us.
"Remain seated," he says, his voice firm. "I'm the bank manager and will call police. Please stay where you are. Please do not call anyone or use your cell phones."
I wipe my hands on my clothing and glance at my phone, wishing I could call in to my supervisor and let her know I'll be late for a shift, but I hold off calling.
My hands are shaking. I’m glad I was able to help someone who was seriously injured, but still — a bank robber?
About three minutes later, police arrive, members of a swat team entering the building and taking control of the premises. Several men in dark suits approach those of us left in the bank and while I watch, they began escorting customers into corners, to speak with us about what happened.
One black-suited man comes to me, his dark hair short, his glasses thick rimmed. He sees my tag and lifts it to read my details.
"You’re a med student at Bellevue?"
"Yes," I say, taking in a deep breath to calm myself. "I’m doing my psych rotation."
"Talk about bad timing. I guess the thug was lucky you were here.” He smiles at me, then he speaks into a cell and covers his mouth so I can’t hear what he says. He listens to the response and then turns back.
"You can come with me."
"Who are you?" I ask and stand firm, my hands on my hips. "Show me your badge, please."
He shrugs and holds out a wallet with his FBI ID.
Special Agent Morse.
"Okay," I say. "Can I call my supervisor first? I have a shift at the hospital to fill."
He shakes his head. "I’ll have someone check out your identity. Until we confirm, you have to come with me, answer some questions."
He speaks briefly with another man in black and then turns back to me, motioning for me to follow him. We leave the bank and walk to a black sedan waiting at the curb.
When we get to the sedan, Morse holds open the door to the back seat.
"If you don’t mind," he says and motions inside.
We drive off to what I expect is the FBI office building in downtown Manhattan and I have a few minutes to think about the attack and what I'll say, but in truth, it all happened so quickly, I barely had time to think.
Of course, I’m worried that people will think I was aiding and abetting a crime by helping the robber who was shot, but I was only hoping to save his life – like I’m supposed to do.
Before we stop, Morse’s cell rings, so he answers while we are stopped at a red light.
"Yeah, she's here with me."
A pause.
"Are you sure?"
Another pause.
"Okay, I'll drop her off."
He ends his call, and we drive off once the light changes.
"It's your lucky day," Morse says, glancing at me in the rear-view mirror, his voice slightly disgusted. "Seems your little stunt saving the life of a robber attracted the interest of the Assistant Director. He wants to speak with you at his office."
