Mira Corpora by Jeff Jackson

He leans over and whispers in the body's ear. At first, the body believes he's reciting some endearment in German. But soon it realizes these are purely invented syllables. The stream of intimate gibberish begins to erase the woman's instructions, as if the idea of escape is an elaborate joke, as if every word eventually means the exact same thing. Gert-Jan presses his lips closer. The whispering continues. It's as if I'm not even here.