‘The Fugue’ ii. One night, I lay on the couch reading – just as I’d done many other nights. Wolf was curled in the chair opposite me, just as she usually was. Then the thought popped in my head to kill her. I saw it clearly: I’d rip her head off. The thought was beyond reprehensible, beyond unconscionable, beyond anything I’d known before, and it terrified me to think that I could be capable of thinking it. I sat up, told myself there was no way I was going to do that, but the violence and aberration of the thought remained, washed over me in a way that I couldn’t…