Prue didn't remember deciding to get up. Didn't remember walking to the door of the guest room or opening it. But suddenly she was standing at the top of the stairs, one hand on the banister, the left one, the good one, because her right wrist still throbbed in its brace. She remembered she still had weeks before it wouldn’t hurt so bad.

She stared down the stairs, those same stairs she'd fallen down four weeks ago. The stairs she couldn't remember falling down. Just a blank space where the ...