Kicking the gift horse

I was frightened of Thomas from the beginning. His authority and command of language seemed too well developed. Within the first week, he had given me a television." I was going to chuck it out " he said. " I've got two more...it's only an old bunny ears." There was no trace of affection in his voice, the first suggestion that gadgets, and perhaps people, were expendable tools. When I collected it, I noted his flat looked opulent. Leafy and spacious. The television was placed in my empty lounge room to await the other furniture. Thomas had given me his mobile number, written small and torn from the page of a suspicious notebook. He seemed momentarily confused when I called. Barely had we dispatched with the hello's and his mobile was 'dropping out'. I could hear him clearly,..infant well enough to discern a clicking tone in the background, rather like a fax machine. I hit redial. Clear reception but the background noise had altered...had he moved outside? " I'm really busy at the moment" he said. " Finishing this......thing...for the government." He sounded distracted and didn't volunteer any information. I presumed it was Top Secret. On Tuesday he was absent, his mobile rang out . Wednesday morning he arrived, unshaven and with a black beanie pulled down tightly over his ears. He was clutching a large silver briefcase. Later, he removed a camera fitted with a microscopic lens and proceeded to intimately scan Sebastion, with alarming alacrity. Thomas was adamant a photograph could only be taken of him with his black beanie on, in black and white, and preferably of such poor quality as to render the subject unreadable. I managed to obtain an (unemployed) artist's impression of him, and I had kept the original diary page with his address and phone number. I noticed the columns with 'distance' and 'remarks'. The small, legible handwriting. On Wednesday afternoon he made a passing comment," When are you moving all your stuff in? ". I had given him no indication that I hadn't already moved in. How did he know the flat was empty? He continued.." It's a nice area, North Fitzroy." I had not told him where I live! That night I put the television out on the street. It's Thursday now, and Thomas refuses to talk to me, but I have caught him glancing my way, his face hateful. I know nothing of his dreams or desires. He must be watched, is my only consideration of Thomas