Phantom Hearts (Rewritten)

Prologue 2-Drako

The Phantom watched the boy who remained in a coma despite the efforts the doctors had made. He wondered how the boy had gotten there and why he felt such a connection to him and the lady so stood guard over the boy.
To the Phantom, he figured that memories could be as easily shatter as a glass bottle, the contents of said bottle dripping out and leaving nothing that is able to be consumed. That is how he felt about people's memories. They can be taken away from you no matter how hard you fight to keep them.
He had so many questions, not just about himself but about the others that were in the room. Questions, that the answers only could be answered with more questions.
He knew that something wasn't right, but couldn't pin point it, because his own memories, were blocked off. When he closed his eyes to think about who he had been he saw nothing but blackness.
He sat on an abandoned chair by the window and looked out it. He couldn't help but smile and the freshly fallen snow. He only wished he could go out and touch it, feel how cold it would be.
The Phantom caught something out the corner of his eye, it was a boy. He was running and his pale yellow scarf flew out behind him like a superheroes cape would. The way this boy runs, reminds the phantom of an arrow, it's so streamline and practiced. Then he's gone and the phantom is left wondering about this boy.
"Afternoon Drako." He hears a familiar voice behind him. He turns to see the lady, she's come for her daily visit.
Drako...why does that sound familiar? The phantom wonders.
He's sure that it's the comatose boy's name and not his, but every time the lady says it, it stirs something inside the phantom, a small hint of memory.
He hates looking at the boy though, that was why he was looking out the window.
The bandages wrapped around his head. He looks so lifeless, these awful machines -that the phantom only knows are trying to keep him alive.
This would be a terrible place to die. He thinks to himself.
If he was going to die, he thought that it would be doing something dangerous. Like sword fighting, or flying to the Bemudian triangle, or being a science experiment of a sort and becoming a magical being. He laughed to himself, where did those ideas come from?
The lady picks up the comatose boy's hand. "I should have never let you go." She's started to cry. The phantom feels like he should comfort her, but he knows from past experiences, that it won't work. He's nothing more than air to the people around him.
The lady once again says the boys name, and the phantom frowns.
Drako? The phantom thinks. Why does that sound so familiar?
He stays where he's been sitting for awhile now and watches the lady wipe tears from her eyes and tighten her grip on the boy's hand.
"Drako, don't die on me. Please...." She mumbles more words but the phantom tries to ignore them. It's not the first time she's said that.
That name....it's familiar. This has started to bother the phantom.
Then something returns to him.
".....but I'm not dead.....I'm in front of you....you...can't see me, can you?"
He...he was Drako. He was the comatose boy, but what had happened.
He got up and floated over to the bed to look at the boy, no to look at himself.
It was like those out of body experiences and it scared him. Was he going to die? What had happened? Again the questions came only to be answered with more questions. He hated it.
Nothing makes sense!
He lightly runs his hand over the bandages on the comatose him's head.
No movement.
Was he really was dead....but then... why was he still here? How was his body still alive, yet in a coma? How.....
With all good time, Drako. A girls voice spoke in his head. Everything you are thinking about will be answered. Just be patient.
What happened to me? Why am I here? He asks.
No one replies.