Tom Holland Imagines

Smooth Criminal

You cowered on the floor in the corner, still too stunned to speak. You were quaking under your shock blanket, your mouth opening and closing wordlessly around your chattering teeth. 

"I'm going to ask you again, Ms. Y/L/N. What happened? Did you see his face?" The Detective Inspector repeated the question for what seemed like the umpteenth time. 

"A-aa," you said brokenly, trying and failing once again to form words. 

"She's too shook up, boss," the CSI muttered to him.

"Alright fine. I'm going to ask you some questions and all you have to do is nod or shake your head, okay?" The Inspector was a tall man in a buttoned-up suit with a New-York dialect strong enough to knock your socks off. You didn't dare defy him, so you nodded.

"Good. First thing. Were you attacked this evening?" You nodded. "By a man?" you nodded again. "Did you see his face?" 

This one took you a minute. You tried to recall exactly what you'd seen, but it just hadn't made sense. You'd thought he'd had dark eyes and matching hair with a cutting jawline and a crooked nose, but the face you remembered was far too handsome to have been your attacker. Nobody that pretty robs defenceless women blind. You decided to shake your head, chalking your vision up to shock.

"I see. No face at all?" You swallowed hard, attempting to find what was left of your voice.

"N-no, sir. He was completely hidden behind a white fedora." You'd managed a few words, though your voice was three octaves higher than usual.

"Ah! She speaks. Wonderful, Ms. Y/L/N. One last thing...is that your blood over there?" He pointed to a still-damp red stain on your white carpet. Just like that, your voice evaporated again. Your eyes widened and you drew the shock blanket closer to your body, beginning to rock back and forth in the corner. 

Yes, it was your blood. But it was to terrifying to say aloud. You remembered the sting of his bronze ring against your face and the sound it made as it fractured your nose. You shuddered and began to cry.

"Good enough," sighed the Inspector. "I think I've got all I need to go on. Some people on the street saw him fleeing. They'll be interrogated as witnesses. Boys, let's go!"

As fast as they'd come, the policemen inspecting every centimetre of your house were gone. The Inspector had promised his return in a few minutes, as soon as he'd questioned the witnesses. You were alone again in your house full of shattered glass.

In an attempt to cool your anxiety, you shakily got to your feet and padded to the kitchen. You turned around to grab a glass from the cabinet and on your way back down from your tippy toes, noticed something on the counter. Something that definitely hadn't been there seconds earlier. A white fedora. You gasped and turned around slowly, snatching a kitchen knife from the block in the corner.

"Who are you?" you asked, trembling.

"Eh...nobody of any consequence." The man was there...leaning against the kitchen island in his white suit.

"What do you want from me?" you wailed. "You've already taken everything!"

"I just came to return this," he shrugged, sliding a memory chip across the counter towards you. You looked at him incredulously. The face was definitely what you'd thought it had been...angular and cleanly-shaven with a glint in the eyes that was something other than ambition.

"What is this?"

"The memory chip. Don't get me wrong, I'm keeping your camera, but there's some pretty personal stuff on there. I'm a thief, not a monster," he told you, winking.

"I swear to God, I'll scream and the cops will be back up here in ten seconds," you threatened. But the man was quicker. He drew a vintage hand-pistol from his pocket and pointed it at you.

"Oh, you'll do no such thing. I just wanted to talk that's all. You're a pretty one. Apologies about the face," he told you. The thing that shocked and disgusted you at the same time was the sincerity in his voice. He examined his ring and you noticed some flecks of blood still coating the gems.

There were some footsteps on the stairs to the apartment...coming down the hall. Thank God, you thought, the Inspector's back. 

"Look's like our time's up, angel, but thank's for the talk. I enjoyed it. He winked and snatched his hat from the counter before tipping the brim low over his eyes and strolling casually to the shattered window through which he'd entered earlier that night. "The name's Holland by the way." 

Like a cat, he leapt off the edge of the window and fell what must have been stories. You gasped, completely shocked at his suicide, and rushed to the window to look at the body below. Much to your surprise, there was nothing there but empty pavement.

"Ms. Y/L/N?" The Inspector called from the doorway. "Are you okay?" 

You stood there with your jaw hanging open. "Holland," you repeated quietly to yourself.