The Ink Ribbon was gathered from several pieces and reconstructed in order to retrieve this document. The first piece was found by Green Feathers in Box 6. Later HABIT announced "Extra Innings" to The Seven Trials and sent 6 of the remaining Rabbits pieces of ink ribbon as part of the Extra Innings Prizes.
The transcription of the piece found by Green Feathers reads:
- 10.28.1980 Where are you, my beloved? Where are you now in my darkest time of need, oh protector? After all the turmoil I went through to ensure my children, our family, a protected and loving life, you dare let such to hell with it. I'll continue writing in a few hours, Stephanie's now safe in bed. The whiskey's worn off. It's become quite apparent that we should look in to weaning her off the medicinal regimen; it's become far too complicated for a girl of her age to keep in order. I haven't written about the events since. The children were just having breakfast. Mary and I were in the living room, talking about replacing furniture, when Jeffrey came running down the stairs. My veins froze when he cried, tears streaming down his face, "Steph's dead! Steph's dead!"
The transcription of the pieces sent to The Rabbits reads:
- I ran up the stairs into their bedroom and found my daughter cold blue, on the ground. Evan was sitting in the corner, watching her his eyes wide. I demanded to know what happened. I scooped her up in my arm, reacting, not thinking. Life started once more as I found that she still held a pulse, a spark of life. Hours, emergency nurses and physicians lists of questions later, we were home. Were she a teen she probably would have been placed under a suicide watch. However, and probably for the worse I withehld (sic) my children's detailed histories from the ER (that we had not the previously misfortune to visit). After piecing together the information from my children, it was determined that she had accidentally taken far too much of her daily doses. I'm not sure how this happened as we had instilled a tried and true method of counting for each of the children's routines. Regardless, she was recovering. But we cannot even try to pretend that she's the same. She's distanced herself from us, her family, since her accident. She barely even talks to Evan any more, easily her best friend. I tried to talk to her directly, and she just looks off, towards the blank wall, out a window, anywhere but the situation at hand. I tried talking to Evan about this, to see what he thought about her distance. He smirked. “Maybe it’s best that she just stays quiet. Maybe it’s for the better.” I asked him what the hell he meant. “Maybe it’s just better. So she won’t ‘overdose’ again." Always the mediator, always looking to deflect, young Vincent took his attention and they went outside to play in the yard. Jeffrey had been watching from the stairwell. "I just wish we could have help her" he said, staring away. I don't know what to do, James. I just don't. I guess all we can do is wait and see. -Corental, 3. 6am"