The Ghost of You
Summary: "If I cease searching, then, woe is me, I am lost. That is how I look at it - keep going, keep going come what may." –Vincent Van Gogh. / Or, in which they keep searching for him and don't stop. BillyPhyllis, TravisVictoria. For Danica.

PROLOGUE: The Beginning

When Billy Abbott woke up this morning to leave for Restless Style, his girlfriend was gone but he knew she'd come at night. She always did because the smell of her perfume and her natural scent lingered in his sheets. He woke up as he always and found a note in her writing. I'll come back, she'd always write. Billy, in turn, would smile and shake his head imagining her smile and the mischievous glint in her beautiful eyes. Phyllis Summers was beautiful with red hair and a wicked mind. She swore freely, lived passionately, and laughed as though, it came from her soul. He could finally see what his brother, Jack, saw in her before he was killed.

His older brother joined their father due to some strange cause, he and his sisters didn't want to ponder while in their grief. Phyllis had been devastated and through the grief they floated in, they had bumped into each other and never let the other go. Phyllis was beautiful but she was strange. He should have feared her. He should have judged her and looked at her with new eyes that said he didn't love her anymore. But he didn't. Billy stared at her quietly and assuming he had been hurt, Phyllis sighed and got up to go. Of course, she was stronger and faster than him but still, he gently grabbed her arm and stopped her. He rested a hand on her cheek and it was comfortably warm. He looked at her and smiled reassuringly.

Despite her tough exterior and all of the edges that could cut him to the bone, she smiled back with her eyes filling with tears. In her smile, Billy noticed a new sharpness in it that made her more attractive. He ran a hand through her flame coloured hair and kissed her to reassure her. Besides, he stopped being shocked with these things. His ex-wife was a powerful witch, his kids had inherited their own kind of magic from her, Reed was an instinctual hunter because his dad was, and the man about to be Johnny and Katie's stepfather was a fucking mutt.

This beautifully crafted woman with him was truly something otherworldly and eternal. Phyllis was a vampire. Billy was a bourbon drinking bastard and an atheist.

"If you're a monster," Billy softly whispered against her lips, "you're my monster."

Shit happened.

—

The day continued to play out as normal. He had gone to see his children, keeping up his easy and fun friendship with Victoria. Would they go back to their romance laden with some of his best memories and heaviest baggage? Probably not, but for two people who were dysfunctional, they had made two relatively normal children. Billy loved Victoria in a way that wasn't romantic anymore. There was someone else to do that now, but Billy would always care for her as the mother of his children and shockingly his good friend. He mused that perhaps, they had been so deeply entrenched in the Newman-Abbott rivalry so long and so frequently, it left them comfortably numb and immune.

Now as his head throbbed and Billy struggled to open his eyes to adjust to his surroundings, he got the feeling it wasn't daytime anymore. He grunted as he pulled himself to a sitting position and when he stood, his legs as steady as Johnny's Play Doh. He blinked to adjust his eyes again, and he realized he was confined to a place strange to him. It was white everywhere. There were white walls to the left and right of him, and white walls under and above him. If it was intended to drive Billy crazy, it was working. Oh, and his cot was white too.

"Shit…" Billy cursed, grimacing as his head continued to pound, and he nearly saw double. His vision was swimming. Every exhale and inhale left a sharp in his side. The florescent lights were blinding and they left a stinging in his eyes that made him squint against them. There were no windows, Billy realized, as his eyes flitted around the room. He could have died and stepped into some strange white light but he was sure he wasn't going to go to heaven on his own merit. He leaned against the wall to relieve the vice in his head. When the door opened, Billy forced himself to breathe and not wince. His heart skipped and it frustrated Billy that he couldn't steady it.

Long pale legs moved gracefully, the clicking of her black heels, a never-ending gong in his head. A dark green dress wrapped around her body, golden bangles on her skinny wrist. Billy kept his eyes focused on her partly in defiance and partly in fear. He wouldn't let his fear be seen though. He was fueled by his residual need to keep Phyllis clear and vivid in his mind and a parent's instinct to see their children. He saw her tanned skin, dark eyes and long black hair. Her lips were painted red, her fingernails painted black.

Her dark eyes were sharp and hawk-like as they scanned him and stayed on his face.

"The rumours are indeed true," the woman spoke smoothly, a slight Spanish accent tinged in her speech. "They said William Foster Abbott was handsome and here you are before me, in the flesh. I am curious to know if you taste as good as you look."

Billy pulled a face, reared back from her touch, "You're not my type, sweetheart. You look like a Mary type, or Nancy type, or," he snapped his fingers in mock recognition, "an Alexandra type. I dated an Alexandra once. Total bitch and needy as hell, that one."

"My name," the woman spoke offended and angrily, narrowing her eyes, "is Marisol."

He settled in comfortably against the wall even though a sharp pain stabbed him in the side, worse than the first. Billy worked with everything inside of him to keep his irritation away. Any emotion that would bring his aches and slight nausea to the forefront.

Billy chuckled and raised an eyebrow. There was mocking amusement in his eyes.

"Well, Marisol," Billy continued, imitating her accent, "I still don't care."

Marisol's offence morphed into rage. Her eyes flashed red and she hissed, baring her fangs. Billy resisted the urge to fight her knowing that she could snap him in half. Billy almost smiled at the image of a fiery redhead busting in to kill her. Her eyes traveled down to his neck and Billy saw her smile from his peripheral vision. Billy felt her penetrating, hungry gaze. Still, he was defiant and his body tensed up. Billy felt his heart race so fast, he didn't know when it would stop or what he would do if it truly did. A finger traced the side of his neck and he almost wished to die so Marisol could do pester someone else.

"I can hear your heart racing." Marisol said, soft and distant. "Adrenaline in the blood is simply wonderful. You must taste exquisite."

"I'm not your blood type," he snarked, knowing he was a living, breathing free for all buffet. He would be a sitting duck in the middle of hunting season. "Shut the fuck up and do it already."

"It would be my pleasure," Marisol said, finally. She let her fangs be free and Billy tensed in anticipation of them piercing his neck. Billy was also ready for the pain. He was preparing himself to tell Phyllis he loved her – all of her. He loved her warmth even though it was more of a forest fire he didn't mind being in the middle of. He loved Phyllis for all her flaws and he loved more for all the things that made her perfect for him. Billy was readying himself to tell Victoria, she was the best person he ever knew, an even better mother, and to take of Johnny and Katie. He was praying he didn't gag when he told Travis to take care of his kids and love them like they were his own. He already did. Billy appreciated that even though he'd never say it to his face.

"Marisol!" a sharp deep tone boomed, making the vampire move from him. Her fangs were gone, her eyes their normal dark brown and she frowned deeply at the stranger. Billy knew that voice. He felt it in his bones. It sparked memories in his head, buried in the past and weighed down by emotions he didn't want to deal with. The only thing he wanted to deal with iwas making his head work well enough to devise an escape plan without dying. The voice spoke again, and Billy almost couldn't breathe. Marisol wasn't so useless because she stood between him and the stranger. "Hold your temper and leave our guest be."

Marisol sighed, annoyed, "You've become quite a bore ever since you lost her…"

There was a pause before Billy heard the familiar but the strange voice. It was familiar in his head and heart but strange in his head. It was wrought with calm anger.

"I could kill you instead. That will entertain me and make things more lively, I assure you."

Marisol started to speak but held her tongue. Billy knew the sound of someone forcing their words back because he was his superpower. Well, one of them. He often failed at that. Billy said it was a superpower of his. It didn't mean it was effective or anything.

"Get out of my sight."

Marisol huffed and turned around to him. She smiled, touching his face.

"We will meet again, mi amor."

Billy smiled sarcastically and smugly, "Goodbye, Miranda."

Marisol glared at him before she turned to the stranger before she huffed, and sped off in a literal blur. Only then when Billy was able to see the face and the person wearing the sharp, tailored suit. His head pounded again, and raced with thoughts that made no sense to him. Sound became warped and disjointed and it took everything in Billy not to throw up.

"Holy fuck…No."

The stranger grinned, and Billy knew that smile. He knew the face.

"Don't pay any attention to her. William Abbott. I'm glad we finally have this chance to meet."

Billy's eyes stayed on his face before his anger and annoyance came rushing at him, full force. Jack had died right after their dad and left him when he promised he wouldn't. Delia, his daughter, had died of cancer while he was married to Victoria. Despite Victoria being full of literal magic, there was no solution or spell to stop their marriage from disintegrating. He wasn't going to let himself be selfish and allow her to be consumed by her darkness when Victoria was adamant that she'd bring Delia back using every avenue of necromancy. She wanted to bring Delia back from the dead to make him happy and repair his heart but everything was beyond repair.

Currenty, he loved the life he had and the weird world he lived in life. It was funny because he, of all people, was normal when he was surrounded by people who were anything but. Most days, it cracked him up but now, it angered him. Fuck you, Jack. His brother was gone and messed up as it was, he was fine with it. He would never be fine with never having his big brother rip on him, or be okay with never getting to make fun of The Moustache again but he wasn't okay. Because here was another man with the face of the brother he loved, warping and twisting every good memory he had of Jack.

"Billy's fine," he snapped, locking his jaw. "What the fuck do you with me?"

The man laughed his brother's laugh without all the warmth behind it.

"I was informed of your lack of patience," he said, again and waved a dismissive hand. "No matter, Billy. First and foremost, allow me to introduce myself."

Billy's heart hammered in his chest but he was thankful the anger didn't leave him. If it did, he would be scared shitless. His eyes flitted to the white door with the – of fucking course – white doorknob. The stranger followed his glance and then looked back at him.

He clicked his tongue with mock disdain, "You've just arrived and you're looking to leave?"

"What?" Billy sneered, with a mocking smile. "You gonna have us bond over a drink and share life stories instead?"

The man sank down to take a seat on the cot. Billy watched those cold blue eyes glance down at his neck before they locked on his. He didn't say it, but Billy found this man's grin chilling. He had to get out of here. He had to see his sisters. Billy had to see his children, trade stupid and funny texts with Victoria because the laughter was genuine and platonic, and more than anything, he had to see Phyllis, feel her and prayed he wouldn't forget what her perfume smelled like and what her skin felt like against hers.

"I understand your eagerness to leave. After all, you have your children, John and Katherine. Surely, Victoria Newman is taking wonderful care of them," he replied and frowned lightly when he said Victoria's name. Billy felt a twinge of confusion. He sighed, smiling again. Billy saw that kind of smile in an unnamed slasher film too old to name and ones he got in trouble for watching because he was too young. "But you must humour me by staying."

"Why exactly?"

"Because," he stood again, and stepped towards Billy, slow and deliberate. There was always a twinkle in Jack's eyes and in these pair of identical ones, there was nothing, "it seems we have Phyllis Summers in common, of course."

Billy's head snapped up, and there was alarmingly fast clarity cutting through the fog.

"Good. Now, I have your attention," the man said finally and put out his hand for Billy to shake. "Let's get introduced. I am Marco. Marco Annacelli."

—

Phyllis climbed the second story of Billy's Victorian style house like she always did after sunset. The air was cool against her skin and had no problem unlocking the window. She effortlessly slid in and smiled at seeing the one place familiar to her. Sure, Billy could have given her a key but what was the fun with that? They were all about living in the moment, in the now, wrapped up in their own adrenaline. Phyllis had a long past so being spontaneous. So, living in the present was precious to her. Her heeled red shoes padded the room decorated in colours of black, white, silver and a touch of red for her.

She expected Billy's sleeping form in the dark, expected to pull off her shoes and slip into his bed. He didn't act surprised, but greeted her with a kiss that said I missed you. She expected him to pull her close to him and then kiss with another that said stay. So, she did. Phyllis stayed. She stayed in the arms of a man and under a roof that, for the first time, in decades, felt like home. Sometimes, Phyllis watched Billy sleep long after the sex was over even though the feelings of his hands and lips against her body were still felt. She stared at his serene look on his face with the jaw she liked to press kisses on. She excepted his warmth but it was cold tonight. His bed was cold and empty. The whole house was deathly quiet. A cold chill ran up her spine and the frustration of not seeing what she expected, enraged her. Tonight wasn't like the others. She wouldn't be home with Billy's warmth next to her and around. She wouldn't get to rest and listen to his heartbeat all night as he slept. Phyllis wouldn't get to be lulled to sleep by it for a little bit before she woke up before dawn. Phyllis also realized she wouldn't get to write that familiar note of I'll be back and left it on his night table. She wouldn't get to kiss Billy goodbye until the next night. She would not be greeted by a kiss that said hello. This was her routine and for someone who bounced from variable to variable and from earthquake to tornado to volcanic eruption, Phyllis treasured this kind of stability. In the darkness, she sank into the bed and brought a pillow to her nose. She inhaled, taking in the scent of his body wash.

In the dark, Phyllis craved the intimate routine only in the space big enough for the two of them. In that same darkness, she felt tears of panic come to her eyes but rage that was searing and murderous pushed them back. She screamed, ripping that pillow in half. Someone tilted her balance with Billy. Someone took her a pattern of moments with him that was everything to her. Someone had taken Billy. Billy Abbott was her everything.

—

On one of these special patterned nights, Phyllis stayed awake and wrapped up in his bed sheets. As always, they had sex that was all-consuming, intense and uncontrollable they drowned in it. Billy made her feel ironically alive. He had her safe when she was used to danger and sometimes, went searching for it. More than anything, Billy made her feel loved when she had a hardened sharpness that prevented that emotion – or any emotion – from getting too close to her.

Phyllis watched his face break out into a sleepy smile before his eyes opened to look up at her.

"Stop watching me sleep."

Phyllis traced a smooth circle on his chest, smiling mischievously, "You haven't learned?"

"Learned what?" he replied, following her line of humour. Phyllis appreciated that he kept up with her because he matched her. Billy Abbott was a spinning tornado all on his own. He shot for the moon and said screw it and he missed and ripped the stars down when he fell.

"Not to tell me what to do. I'm not amused, Abbott."

"Maybe," Billy pulled himself up into a sitting position and pulled her on top of him. She let him, even if she was much stronger than him. He ran a hand through her hair before he yanked her head back, and kissed her neck repeatedly. It made her delirious, made her dizzy. It made Phyllis crave him in a way that was deeper than the emotional and more powerful than the sexual. He pressed another kiss to the corner of her mouth, before claiming it. She wanted Billy. She wanted all of him and wanted every part of him. Phyllis even wanted the part of Billy she knew she shouldn't but was part of her nature. He stared up at her with darkened brown eyes that carried desire in them. They spoke to her again, as his heart raced under her hands and she could almost feel his blood burn hot in his veins, "just maybe… I like learning everything about you, Summers. Everything."

Phyllis turned serious, immediately realizing what he meant. What he was asking of her.

"Billy…"

"I said I loved all of you, Phyllis," he whispered, stroking the apple of her cheek and his eyes shined. They were beautifully honest and they stripped her bare. "I meant that. I want to see all of you."

Phyllis stared at him in awe and glanced down, staring at the one she shouldn't before she met the part of him she could stare into forever and a day. His eyes. Sometimes, Phyllis wondered if they could be like this following time that stretched beyond 24 hours and the conventional constraints of days, months, and years were useless.

"I'll hurt you. I'll kill you," she answered, and said resolutely, and adamantly. "No."

"I want you to do this for me," Billy said, as adamantly and sure as her. He was so fucking stubborn. It was endearing and maddening, even though she could be stubborn too. Still, it was irritating. Phyllis wanted to love him, and just be with him. Not this. No matter how loudly her head screamed for it and how much need she had for what lay beneath his soft skin. Phyllis could feel her nerves being stretched. He softened and continued, "I want this, and so do you. We suck at normal. This, right here, is our normal. This moment is my normal. With you."

Phyllis stared at him in silence before she kissed him. It wasn't one of the kisses that were casual or ones that Phyllis treasured. It was one that was selfish because she wanted Billy for herself. It was one that was reckless and greedy. Billy kissed with the same fervor and it was all a blur. It was a blur she settled into with him and caused because of him. Billy was pushing her over the edge but he gripped her roughly enough to let her know, he'd fall with her. He had fallen because of her.

His scent was intoxicating and addictive. It was under his skin, a steady hum in her ears and was slowly getting louder and sounding a vacuum.

Phyllis couldn't do it anymore.

She couldn't hold the dam inside of her and keep it from breaking. It held the part of her that made her a little more irrational, more wild than she was and a lot more dangerous. Still, Phyllis loved Billy. Still, she loved him and she held to that constant thread in a space that made sense to her but didn't at the same time. How the hell could Billy ask her to trust anything when it was foreign to her? How could someone seen as a mess through the world's eyes, be damn near perfect in hers? However, it wasn't wired in Phyllis' mental, and emotional design to hold back anything.

So, she didn't. Phyllis' inner dam exploded, her primal, feral nature coming to the fore.

She let her fangs show themselves and bit Billy to get to the crimson currents in him. Phyllis felt Billy tense under her and then relax, his hand in her hair. He was warm, metallic and sweet. His blood was the embodiment of him. Billy Abbott was warm and passionate. He was metallic. She could taste his bruises, his pain, and scars on her tongue. Billy Abbott was sweet in the way he found new ways to make her smile, make her laugh, irritate her, frustrate her, love her and give her a feeling of joy that was soothing to her soul.

—

Phyllis turned on the light, the room as it always was. Quiet rage ceased her. Something had disrupted her status quo. Someone had made fear and worry churn in her gut even though she was unsure of its origin. Someone had shifted her new normal with Billy and someone was going to pay for it. She scanned the room, ran into the adjoining bathroom where everything was as it was, disorganized as it was.

She stepped back into the bedroom after stomping through the rest of a house that had become instinctually familiar to her.

"Damnit, Billy!" she screamed, angry that the scent of his aftershave lingered in the air and assaulted her when he was nowhere to be found. "Where the hell are you?"

Phyllis cursed, punching a mirror that reflected loneliness to her. Bloody cuts appeared on her knuckles and her fingers when the glass shattered under her full strength. They had healed as quickly as they came. In the silence, Phyllis couldn't hear Billy's steady breathing and picture the fall and rise of his chest. She couldn't sharpen her hearing to find the steady rhythm of a beating heart that was given to her to hold and keep, despite it being battered.

She stormed over the window and threw it open. The night air blew against her skin as she jumped out, gravity not as quick and heavy for her. It made her land effortlessly on her bright red Jimmy Choo pumps. Phyllis let her stoicism drive her need to get to Billy and kill whoever had taken him.

Phyllis stood in his front yard and gazed at a house across the street before she looked behind her to find Billy's driveway empty. That house would have a direct view of who had been in the vicinity of the house even though Billy obviously hadn't been taken from there. Everything was untouched and neat.

With laser focus, Phyllis sped over to that house and knocked, rapidly.

She could have broken her way in, but she had to take her time to make sure her rage was steady enough to let shades of rationality come through. Phyllis wouldn't bother to find patience. Phyllis didn't get along with it.

She plastered a smile on her face and knocked again, but louder until the door shook.

"Fuck it," Phyllis hissed angrily, letting the rage shove the rationale away. She kicked the door and at full strength, the door splintered and its gold hinges cracked. She slammed the door and met the annoyed, wide-eyed gaze of a college student. Phyllis saw the girl with a messy blonde bun on the top of her head, grey sweats and a GCU shirt. Her lips parted before they twisted into an annoyed pout which grated Phyllis further.

"Can I help you?" she questioned, annoyed and nearly yelling at her. "You broke my fucking door—"

Phyllis cut her off but roughly, grabbing her by the throat and pining her against a wall. The girl squirmed and kicked against her grasp while making choking sounds in the back of her throat. She could feel this girl's windpipe twist and bend in her grip and if Phyllis didn't get any damn answers, she'd snap her neck.

"You're going to tell me what I need to know. You will not lie to me. Do you understand me?" Phyllis ordered, quietly, staring into those blue eyes. She was compelling her, making this college girl's mind become submissive to her control. The kicking and resistance stopped, slowly but surely. Phyllis let her go as the blonde's eyes became a vacant, glassy blue. She nodded, numbly. "Good girl. Let's start with something easy."

—

"What's your name?"

"Brielle Andersen."

"How old are you?"

"I'm 21 years old."

Phyllis continued her line of questioning, "Do you know who your neighbour across the street is?"

Brielle blinked, and spoke again, "I know him vaguely. Billy… Billy Abbott."

Phyllis nodded slowly, "Right," she started into those empty blue oceans again and asked in a slow tone that left her anger trigger the urge to rip this slender girl to tiny pieces. It clawed at her stomach, her hunger growing and stretching itself. "He's missing. Do you know who took him?"

Brielle maintained her detached voice. "No. I do not."

Phyllis looked at Brielle and really look at her. She studied every part of his girl's face for any deceit. She scanned for any trace of a lie and gazed into her eyes for a spark of falsehood. She closed her eyes and truly tried to understand what the hell had happened. Phyllis tried to fill in the holes, fix the gaps and fuse the pieces together. She couldn't. Phyllis' hands curled into fists and the rage burst forth as a roaring, screaming beast until it clouded her head and saturated her senses.

She rounded on Brielle and gripped her throat again. Phyllis wondered what it was like to break a beauty queen in her hands. So she did, Phyllis buried her fangs into Brielle's throat, recklessly and to the soundtrack of her high pitched screams, took her blood greedily. She wanted it all so she took it. Phyllis tasted her fear most of all, and she savoured it in her throat. It went down smoothly and when there was nothing left, a loud crack sounded in the air that left Phyllis angry yet satisfied. She did what she said she would. Brielle gave her no answers so Phyllis did, in fact, break her neck.

Brielle was innocent and had done nothing, in theory. However, Phyllis was angry, frustrated and hungry. Shit happened.

She watched Brielle's form collapse in a heap at her feet, her throat ripped out.

Phyllis simply stepped over the body, walked out of the house.

Glancing up at the sky, the moon was a crescent today. Clouds hid it. Phyllis looked to her left and let her sight stretch as far as it could to find the blue and ivory she'd invaded many times for her own amusement. She envisioned it and the annoyed look in the brunette's light blue eyes and the witch's protests as Phyllis shoved her way in anyway. It was funny to watch the frustration settle in Victoria's body and sometimes, her fiancé mediated, bless that werewolf heart of his (not really), but her shits and giggles were important. Usually, they were. Usually, Phyllis appreciated toying with Reed as he invented new ways to attempt to kill her. She looked forward to his new attempt. At least, the kid was creative. She wouldn't admit it, but Phyllis liked to intrude the house because she had a sort of soft spot for Johnny and Katie.

When she climbed a window, Phyllis usually alternated through Johnny and Katie's bedrooms because they had gotten used to her and weren't scared of her. Sometimes, they smiled at her and greeted her. Johnny and Katie had an innocence about them that Phyllis found endearing. This was how things usually went and this was the cycle in which she found herself with Victoria. Would there be the same dynamic in which she pushed Victoria's magical buttons only to have the witch push back just as hard? Yes.

There was another serious reason why she found herself intertwined with Victoria. Like her, Victoria knew things about Billy that was parallel to her knowledge and sometimes perpendicular to it. They both knew Billy's mannerisms, knew his habits, knew what he held in this big heart of his, and knew how important it was that Victoria grab her damn broom and help her find Billy. So, like she always did, Phyllis sped off to Victoria's house to enter it through the front door, for once, for a serious and important reason Victoria was going to understand. Despite the push and pull of her weird dynamic with the witch, Phyllis knew Victoria would be on the same wavelength as her. As she used speed too fast for human eyes to push herself forward. Phyllis, despite herself, found a reason to smile because she anticipated toying with Victoria in between finding herself trapped in another serious aspect of Billy with her again.

Phyllis willed herself to speed just a little faster.

The quicker she got to Victoria's house, the quicker she could get to Billy to save him, and herself.