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Never Let Go

The Vanity Fair Inn was a small hotel with a restaurant and pub located atop a small hill in the countryside of Central England. It had twenty rooms on two floors and overlooked the picturesque village of Skeffington. It all looked like something out of an old movie.
Looking out the large window of his second-floor room in the early morning, David Ferno could see for a mile. The village square had all the usual buildings: the town hall, an Anglican church, a small hospital, a police station, and a lot of little shops. Small but cozy homes, some over a century old, surrounded it. Beyond the square was a simple but well-kept park, and beyond that a series of rolling, grassy hills. The village was split in half by a meandering river that lazily passed through the village. The two sides were connected by an old stone bridge built in the reign of Henry VIII. A quiet, somewhat out of the way place, it reminded him of his uncle's country home near Peoria, Illinois. He had spent many happy summers and holidays as a child.

During the fall some tourists would come to see the beautiful autumn leaves of the forest that stood beyond the English village. But it was spring now, although still a little chilly at times, and except for the children playing in the park, it was quiet. It was a good place to get away, to rest, to think, and for David Ferno, to wait.
Yes, this will do fine. David turned away and sat down in the plush old chair in the center of the room. Lying on the night table next to it was the book he had been plodding through since he arrived, two weeks earlier. He had struggled through two pages when he heard a light tapping on the door.
He went to the door and opened it. Standing there with her usual cheerful expression was Mrs. Lynette Standing, who owned the inn with her husband, Neville. She was dressed in her usual outfit of white collared shirt and black skirt with comfortable shoes. An attractive, thirtyish brunette and the mother of three children, she and her husband had instantly taken to David, who was twenty-nine, and treated him more like a friend than a guest.
"David, we're serving breakfast now. I recall you said last night you wanted to take an early walk." Her gentle accent and cheery tone were pleasant and friendly.
"Oh, yes. Thank you Mrs. Standing." Well over six feet, David towered over the medium-sized woman. Yet something about her made him feel like a kid brother. "You really didn't have to go

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