He hits her again, harder this time. Her head rocks back; her eyes roll wildly. A wet gagging sound slides out of her leaking red mouth. She spits two molars onto the carpet.
He is sobbing now, his shoulders heaving raggedly between punches. The living room walls echo the dull meat market sounds of fist against flesh.
She looks him dead in the eye and spits out an incisor, another molar, a canine. Teeth lay scattered between them like fallen constellations.
"Where is he? *Oh God, where is my son?*" This time the blow knocks her sprawling to the floor. She spits out two more incisors and a half-digested index finger.
And then this thing that looks like his wife just stares up at him and smiles with a mouthful of impossibly sharp teeth.