Chapter 1: The Ragle Years
Disclaimer: JAG and its characters are the property of Donald Bellisario, Paramount and CBS. All other characters are mine and fictional.
Sarah I - The Ragle Years
12:37 A.M.
July 1, 1989
Red Rock Mesa, Arizona
Even the stars were passing judgement.
Sarah lay in the chill darkness of the high desert, staring despondently at the all-seeing firmament above her. How could she have made such an utter mess of her life in only 19 short years? Where was the childhood she'd longed to live...the budding promise of womanhood soon to come?
She scanned the earth below. Red Rock Mesa seemed a million miles from where she thought she'd be tonight, a million miles from Chris, and even further from the cemetery where dear, vulnerable Eddie lay cold in an early grave.
She felt empty, hollowed out, alone. As she looked at the barren desert stretching outward toward infinity, she couldn't help but wonder...where did it all go wrong? When had her world become such an unbearable place in which to live? When had it all turned to dust?
Near the Marine Corps Air Station
Yuma, Arizona
May 30, 1985
Life had never been easy in the MacKenzie household, she reflected. Her father, Joe MacKenzie, a Marine NCO, was both a brutal man, and a drunk. His nightly dance with the bottle had left her mother weary beyond her years, and battered beyond endurance.
Within those tired and faded walls, the passing of time had become a tortuous existence. And so, while it damaged her in more ways than she would ever know, it came as no surprise to Sarah when on the night of her 15th birthday, her mother simply vanished.
No one had even looked for the matriarch of the MacKenzie family. It was as though her escape was long overdue, the theft of a clemency that had never been granted. In fact, if anyone had bothered to give it any thought at all, they would have wondered why it had taken her so long.
She had told her mother that she'd be "sleeping over" at her friend Cheryl's house that night, but it had been a lie. Cheryl was barely an acquaintance. Instead, she'd spent the night in the desert with her best friend and drinking buddy, Eddie.
In honor of her birthday, Eddie had "boosted" a six-pack from the local 7-11, an infraction that was rapidly becoming a habit for him.
Close and kindred souls, they spent the night watching the constellations float lazily across the darkened sky. There, beneath the unseeing moon, they sipped their beer and dreamt of rosy futures beyond their reach.
"Sarah?" he'd said. "Some day I'm gonna get away from here. I'm leaving this place behind me, and when I do...I'm never comin' back."
"Me too, Eddie. Me, too." she replied. "I'll be so far gone, this place won't even be a memory."
Sarah recalled coming home from school the next day, her long, dark hair streaming behind her as a "dust devil" whirled across the open desert on its way to the great unknown.
"Where've you been?" her father had slurred drunkenly. "I thought you left with that bitch of a mother of yours. I was just getting ready to celebrate."
"I had to study at the library." she lied, knowing full well that Joe MacKenzie would never check on her there.
"Well, pull my shoes off!" he ordered. "If I'm stuck with you, then you're damn well gonna pull your weight around here."
Stunned, Sarah realized that her mother was never coming back, and her already oppressive life had just taken a turn for the worst. Her first impulse was to follow her mother's example, and get on the next bus out of town. If it hadn't been for Eddie's sensitive counsel, her relationship with Arizona and her father would have ended right there.
Sadly, her best friend had demons of his own to deal with, and so they had formed a mutual support group for each other. He never asked for more than she was willing to offer, and she extended him the same respect. Instead they shared an empathy that only they could understand or offer. They each gave the other the comfort and understanding so needed in their young lives, but which the fickleness of fate had denied them both.
It was hard to believe that things could have gotten worse, but with the absence of her mother, life in the MacKenzie home suddenly took on nightmarish parameters. Joe MacKenzie, formerly a closet alcoholic, now decided to make his status official. His frequent binges on the dilapidated sofa in the living room, became essentially a thing of the past. His safaris into the bottle now lead him to the seedy bars and whorehouses on Santa Fe Avenue. More than once he'd been sentenced to the local brig for becoming "drunk and disorderly".
Her life was actually better when he was away, however, for it was when he was present that life truly became unbearable. Having no one else upon whom to vent his ever-deepening anger and frustration, he exercised what he felt was his paternal right and tormented his only daughter with his perpetual invectives and insinuations.
And then one day, during the summer of her 17th year, Chris Ragle came roaring into their cluttered yard on his huge, black Harley, and stole her heart away.
Summer, 1987
Yuma, Arizona
Chris was a rebel, a "bad boy" of the first order. Most people in their small town headed the other way when Chris rolled by. But to Sarah, he was the salvation she had always needed.
The rugged biker was eight years her senior, and had lived life on the edge since he had dropped out of high school at 16. His aging Harley, burdened with more miles than anything on wheels was meant to have, had been his only companion on the lonely road, and so, it was no surprise that he formed an immediate attachment to the lovely waif with the long, raven-colored hair and doe-like eyes.
He said that he'd stopped for directions to the interstate that day, but in fact, Ragle had seen young Sarah from the dusty dirt road that ran by her yard, and had invented a weak excuse to stop and establish a connection.
Wide-eyed and naive, Sarah had fallen immediately beneath his spell. He was her Svengali, and his hold on her was hypnotic. And so, in spite her father's vehement attempts to dissolve the relationship, Sarah found herself spending much of her free time on the back of his Harley, her thighs wrapped firmly around him, her cares becoming lost on the lonely stretches of desert roadway they perpetually explored.
The situation came to a head late that summer, on a balmy night in the front yard of the MacKenzie bungalow. Chris had once again ridden up to claim the winsome Sarah, only to be confronted in the yard by her father.
MacKenzie was drunk that night, as usual, only this time the "spirits" had told him it was time to take Ragle to task. Grateful for a chance to escape her father's wrath,, Sarah had rushed out to meet the aging Harley, hoping to be far away before her father could intervene. But it was not to be. With a burst of speed unbelievable in one so despoiled, Joe had rushed madly out into the yard behind her, grabbing her hair, pulling her off of the roaring piece of machinery into the dirt at his feet.
It was hard to say exactly what happened next. One minute Chris was sitting astride his ebony steed, and the next, he was leaning over her father, pinning him to the ground with his knee, his fist forming a choke-hold on the tequila-soaked collar of the older man's shirt.
She could still remember the words, which escaped, like a feral growl into the desert night. "If you ever touch her again, Old Man, I'll kill you." he promised. Then, once again astride his Harley, he had offered Sarah his hand.
Sarah looked at her father lying drunkenly in the dust, and at the handsome young man whose coal-black eyes pierced her very soul... and made her decision. That night, in the desert, with only the stars to bear witness, Sarah gave herself to Chris Ragle, and crossed an expanse that forever claimed the final tatters of her childhood innocence.
That Chris wanted her, came as no surprise. She was a beautiful young woman, and was accustomed to the lecherous stares of the young men with whom she came in contact. But until that moment, she had never felt the trust required to allow sharing this last piece of her body and soul with another human being. Now, at 17, Chris had come into her life, a knight in tattered armor rescuing her from the ravages of her existence, and she knew the time had come.
Chris had taken her far out into the desert that night, beyond the small sprinkling of buttes that ringed her tiny community, and away to the east where the sand shone red and gold in the fullness of the moon. He'd taken the large, colorful serape he kept bundled on the back of his Harley, and stretched it out on the desert floor. Then, retrieving a bottle of mescal from his saddlebag, he'd lead Sarah across the moonlit expanse, to the edge of the festively decorated blanket.
Silently, he removed the cap from the mescal, and pressed the bottle to his lips, sucking greedily at its contents. Then, wiping the rim on his sleeve, he extended the bottle to Sarah, his eyes bidding her to share in its warmth.
At first she was hesitant. Her experience with alcohol had been limited to the infrequent six-pack that Jimmy occasionally provided. But Chris was a man, not a boy, and the look on his face said that he expected her to act like a woman.
Silently, Sarah took the bottle from his hand, and poured the burning liquid down her quivering throat, feeling it sear its way into the pit of her stomach. She coughed... gasping for breath as the fiery liquor began to claim her senses.
Ragle took the bottle from her hand, and once again drained a substantial amount before screwing the cap in place and tossing the half filled container down on the sand at his feet. It was then that he directed his attention to the naively alluring young woman before him.
