I could hear the bass strings thrumming. A beat tap-tapping in my head. The blood flowing in my veins. I sucked a long breath through my cigar--Cuban, imported--tipped my hat to a dame striding past through the lamp light, her heels ringing like an iron-shod horse in the night. The cracked asphalt glittered wet in the glow of the streetlamp, a thousand shining coins all vying for my eyes. Church bells tolled out the hour. The priest would not be returning. Not tonight, not tomorrow. I could hear the tune picking up between my ears, Leonard Cohen's melodic growl vibrating my chest, mixing with the scent of cigar, touching the dark.

If you are the dealer, I am out of the game. If you are the healer, it means I'm broken and lame.

I could feel the last parting struggle. The priest thrusting his crucifix in my face between his last dying gasps. The bass thrummed. Bum bum bum bum, boom boom.

"O pater ubi est?" the priest had cried; Father where are you? Father was not looking. He had not looked in some time, His sons trembling and falling on their knees, forgotten. Who's sons? God's? Wind tugged softly at my suit jacket, a child pulling at his father's coat. That child was long gone. I had not looked back. The Lord would forgive, the preists had said. Cohen's voice drifted with the wind,

If thine is the glory, then mine must be the shame. You want it darker. We kill the flame.

The soft yellow lamp flickered over the church front, the Son of God hanging in anguish on the cross over the door. The late sprinkle had left rainwater collecting, which now rolled over His twisted face. Tears of the abandoned God. I sucked another breath through the cigar, studied it, feeling a stab of shame. These priests...

My mouth still tasted of the last one's blood, mixing with the rich tobacco, an odd hue of flavor. But not altogether repulsive. Repulsive. The priest in confessional. His voice still grating through the dark wicker window.

"Dominus poenitenti non ignoscit." The Lord does not forgive the unrepentant. That was me the father had accused. Bum bum bum bum, boom boom. The bass resonated in my skull, Cohen sending up his chant,

Magnified, sanctified, be thy holy name. Vilified, crucified in the human frame. A million candles burning for the help that never came. You want it darker.

Maybe the priests were right. I gazed upon that weeping God, suspended in memoriam over those church doors. Holy water, crucifixes, forgiveness and blight. The dark seemed to press in around me, curling at the fringes of the streetlamp's golden cast. I had become some stoic, some old philosopher. A lone sinner cowering beneath the only light in the dark. Wet leaves and tobacco softly touched the air, the church creaked in the mild breeze. Death waited around the corner. I could feel it. Judgement in the air. Fire and brimstone. I cracked a smile beneath the hard cast shadow of my hat under the lamp, I could imagine my noir stance, sharp teeth sparkling white against the black suit and blue lagoon of the night, a striking pose. Did the priests think of themselves this way? Calling the Lord's might in front of the masses--the shepherds of the flock--arms raised high like an avenging angel to strike down the sinner? Now we were too much alike, those holy men and I. Weeping and forgotten. A vampire's unquenchable thirst turned away the face of God. Tap, tap, tap, the beat echoing down the street, blood dripping on the floor.

I saw myself, a child alone in that cold, dark confessional. The priest on the other side, "Christus pulsat, respondebis filio meo?" The Lord knocks, will you answer my son? His blood still wet my tongue. That child was lost. Bum bum bum bum, boom boom. The bass sounded out from the church tower. Which side of the confessional was I on now?

I took one final pull from my cigar, tipped my hat to that Son of God hanging above the church. I strolled out of the lamp light into the cold, wet dark, Cohen's voice settling my heart,

Hineni hineni, I'm ready my Lord.

-----------

Thanks for the prompt OP. Hope this is somewhat enjoyable, listening to Leonard Cohen's "You Want it Darker" set the scene as soon as I read your prompt, not sure that's really what the song's intentions were but... Hopefully the Latin is correct, I pulled it off a translator :P Edits* A line, grammar.