Later that morning found Brad sitting beside Dr. Scott in the good doctor's specially equipped vehicle. He couldn't believe he'd allowed Dr. Scott to talk him into this expedition. If there was one place on the face of God's green earth he never wanted to see again, it was the castle site.
He looked over at Dr. Scott and asked, "What exactly are you looking for?"
Dr. Scott shrugged. "Anything the Transylvanians might have left behind, or anything that may have been affected by their activities – soil altered by the chemicals Frank N Furter used in his experiments, perhaps. In all likelihood I will find nothing at all. However, it is my duty as a scientist to make the attempt."
Brad merely nodded in response. There was no further conversation until Dr. Scott pulled up to the rusted gates that had guarded the lot where the castle formerly stood. Brad could feel his stomach knot in apprehension.
Dr. Scott turned off the ignition and lowered the ramp for his wheelchair. Brad clambered out the passenger door, and waited for Dr. Scott to get out and raise the ramp. When the van was secured, Dr. Scott pointed toward the charred expanse of soil, scorched by the castle's launch. "Brad, wheel me over there. I will examine that ground, while you walk around the property. Let me know if you find anything of interest."
After delivering Dr. Scott to his chosen plot of ground, Brad started walking aimlessly around the overgrown terrain. He soon began to feel overwhelmed by the futility of his search. The grass was so tall he'd never be able to spot anything small, and he found it difficult to believe the Transylvanians would have been careless enough to leave behind anything sizeable. That thought froze in his mind, however, when he looked down into a ditch that had run alongside the castle. His reaction was immediate and completely spontaneous. "Oh My God!"
Dr. Scott heard his exclamation. "Brad, what is it? What did you find?"
Instead of answering in words, Brad ran to Dr. Scott and wheeled him over to the ditch. Dr. Scott looked down, and his reaction was reminiscent of Brad's.
"Good heavens. It's….him."
It was indeed. Brad and Dr. Scott spent the next few minutes staring in astonishment at the figure huddled at the bottom of the ditch. Apparently the gods – or at least Riff Raff – had decided he would never return home, even in death.
Finally Dr. Scott spoke, in the hushed voice frequently employed by the living when in the presence of the dead. "Frank N Furter. We meet again."
Again, they stood in silent amazement. Finally, Dr. Scott said, "Brad, would you please retrieve him from the ditch?"
It took almost a half hour for Brad to wrestle both Frank's body and himself out of the rather deep ditch. Finally, filthy and exhausted, he laid Frank on the ground and sat down next to him, gasping for breath.
While Dr. Scott waited for Brad to recover, he leaned down to examine Frank's body more closely. There was absolutely no sign of decay; the cold temperatures could have slowed the process, or perhaps it was attributable to a difference in Transylvanian physiology. He couldn't wait to get the body back to his laboratory. This was the opportunity he'd been waiting for throughout his career.
Suddenly, he thought he heard something. It sounded like a faint moan. He looked sharply at Brad.
"Did you hear that?"
Brad looked confused. "Did I hear what?"
Dr. Scott shook his head, and raised his hand for silence. "Just stay quiet and listen."
At first, only silence filled their ears. Then, again, that faint moan…and this time, Brad heard it, too.
He and Dr. Scott looked at each other, their faces white. Brad put his fingers on Frank's neck, feeling for a pulse. Again, he called out to his Creator.
"Oh, my God. I think he's alive."