A Salvage Solitude: Nature Had Other Plans
In the thrilling conclusion Part 3, Mark must face Carl's relentless pursuits
Life provides its own entertainment, and I try to capture the conflict and joy that arise from our everyday experiences. My stories offer a brief respite from this crazy life, and I hope you enjoy them. There’s something new every Friday.
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The Piano Man Chronicles is a two-year anthology project. Every two weeks, you’ll see a story surrounding the fictional novel PIANO MAN (You can read about PIANO MAN below the story). Some stories are small three-part serials. Others will be from guest authors.
Part 3
Sleep came hard for Mark that night, but on a positive note, he had never seen the stars so vividly in his life. The high elevation and a new moon, coupled with no lights for miles around, created a mystical, starry evening before him.
While glorious, it didn’t make up for the terror he felt. He slept in his clothes on the ground with his sleeping bag on top of him so that at a moment’s notice, he could scatter like a deer. Mark expected Carl to come crashing through the bushes at any moment with a knife. For hours, Carl had called for him, staging a one-person filibuster about how he had wronged him for leaving him the morning before.
At first, Mark was relieved when Carl stopped screaming. Maybe he’d gone to bed. But with every rustle of bushes or a possible twig snapping, Mark’s ears perked, wondering if this was the moment before his throat was slit.
But when Mark awoke the next morning, it was light. Dawn had come, and Mark checked his body for any slashes or appendix flowing out. Satisfied, he was untouched. Mark peeked around the tree and finally exhaled when he saw that Carl’s camp was clear. He must have left already.
Mark had never been so ready to see Laura and his Truckee cabin more than he had right now. The moments of solitude, except for the initial two miles from Emerald Bay to the junction to the PCT, had been filled with anxiety and fear. And, he hadn’t passed a wild animal yet. Next time, he’ll be happy with an all-inclusive resort with free drinks, time on the beach with a good book, and maybe some frisky interludes with Laura.
Mark was also hungry. All of his provisions were gone. He had planned poorly, and he had mistakenly shared the backup rations with Carl. What he wouldn’t give for that extra can of soup he had brought. Or those Hostess cupcakes. He’d have a great ribeye tonight and an extra-large glass of Pinot Noir.
For now, he had six miles to go today, the last mile in civilization, and then he could sit in the yard and read Piano Man. As long as he hung back and didn’t run into Carl, Mark could write this off as one crazy story on the PCT. Until then, however, extreme caution was needed.
He strapped on his pack and joined the trail again, following the steps of Carl. A few hundred yards away, he found Carl’s camp from the night before. He did admire Carl for one thing: Carl was respectful to nature. There were only slight hints that he had slept here the night before. The campfire was thoroughly extinguished, the ashes and final logs stomped out. There was not a hint of trash. The spot where his camp lay was brushed. But there, written in the dirt, was a message that made the sweat on Mark’s forehead turn ice-cold.
”Missed you. Fire was warmer than the ground.”
Mark desperately looked around. Was Carl in the trees waiting to pounce on him? Suddenly, even in the wilderness, Mark felt claustrophobic. The trees were too close together. He needed meadows and open spaces to watch for Carl. He pulled out his knife and bear spray from his pack. He would keep both even closer, ready to use at a moment’s notice.
Mark brushed out the sign and continued down the path, each step taken with caution, each bend peered around with wary eyes. For the next two miles, he thought the next moment would be his last. Why did he decide to get out of here in the first place? What narcissistic bullshit for him to “need solitary time” in the wilderness. Laura loved him. His kids loved him. Why did he accept that and move on? Why did he have to tempt fate? Mark accepted the bargain he laid before himself – get back safely and never wish to go on a vision quest by himself. Hike with his kids. Take a trip with Laura. Share the experience with people = though he never wanted to share this experience again.
Above him, Mark heard a cracked branch.
At mid-step, this caused a momentary distraction, and Mark stepped on a root in the ground incorrectly. His ankle twisted awkwardly, causing Mark to fall in a heap.
Dammit
Mark wanted to scream, but instead let the pain he felt manifest through his clenched jaw and squinted eyes. He lowered his hands to his ankle to rub it, and he was confident his injury was only a sprain. Three more miles. It would slow his pace, but he could make it. He only hoped Carl wouldn’t pop out of the trees. Mark grabbed the knife and held it. His fight-or-flight options had been cut in half.
He stood up again. Favoring his left leg, he slowly and gently put weight on his right foot.
Pain.
He’d be scuffling these last couple of miles for sure. But he had to make it to Truckee and to Laura. He needed to put all of this behind him. With each step, he drew closer to his goal. By will, he was going to make it.
Step. Pain. Step. Drag. Step.
Thankfully, around the next bend, a large branch lay a few feet off the trail. Mark examined it. It was five feet long, and his grip around it was solid. The trail gods were looking out for him for sure. This would be his walking stick and would get him through the next couple of miles.
And after a few hundred yards, it had helped take the pressure off his ankle. He drew a breath. One piece of good luck provided a much-needed boost of confidence and positivity.
I can do this.
“You ungrateful son of a bitch,” Mark heard from behind him. Turning around, he saw Carl, his eyes bearing down on Mark. “I find the perfect walking stick to help you through this bit of the trail, and no thank you?”
For some reason, Carl had spread mud on his face. He was less human than any wild animal Mark had ever come across.
“Hi Carl, I just wanted some solitude,” Mark said, trying to play it off. “I came up here for time alone, and I didn’t want to bother you with your hike either. Didn’t you see my note and my extra can of soup?”
“Yeah, but that was almost worse, like I was some jilted lover. You could have woken me up and said goodbye. And then you avoid me on the trail? Why didn’t you answer when I called for you? Why did you not catch up to me and my fire last night? Was your quest for ‘solitude’ so important that you avoided me?”
Mark nodded. He didn’t want to admit my narcissism, but maybe that was the only way out of his predicament.
“Yeah, I’m a selfish asshole,” he said. “I’m sorry. I shouldn’t have left you. I should have stayed. You never know what is out here in the wilderness.”
That seemed to relax Carl, and he relaxed his grip on his own walking stick, which had his pocket knife affixed to the top with duct tape. He smiled, then laughed. Mark was still uneasy. Carl was clearly not right, but Mark felt the tension between them ease.
“I accept your apology, and I forgive you for all of your trespasses,” he said. “I’ve been watching you since you left my camp, and your twisted ankle. That’s why I left the walking stick. But hopefully I can help you the rest of the way.”
Mark smiled as Carl came over to help him. Carl smelled vile, but Mark conceded this was the price for some help the rest of the way. As Mark swung his arm around Carl’s shoulder, for the first time in a couple of days, he felt hope. He would get to Truckee, and Carl would not be using his face as a mask.
Carl shared how he spent three days with a sprained ankle. He eventually had to rest for a full day and a half. “The lowest point of the trip so far,” he said. “That’s when I met Todd. He stumbled upon me, but instead of helping me, he kept hiking. What an asshole. It took me three days to catch up to him, each step painful. But when I did find him, I found an ace bandage that I used. That helped me so much.”
Mark stayed silent, unsure if he wanted to ask the obvious question. He was this close to getting home, and for the moment, Carl was helping. Would that change? But was Carl misunderstood? Did Mark misconstrue the situation? With his curiosity nagging at him, he asked. “What happened to Todd?”
Mark was relieved when Carl’s demeanor didn’t change. They kept walking, one step after another.
“Oh, he got off the trail,” Carl said. Mark relaxed further, and they took more steps. “Well, that’s not completely true. He fell off a cliff. Well, he said, ‘I was an annoying smelly asshole,’ so I pushed him. Served him right. He was only on the trail for a day. What an asshole. I thought you were like him, but it turns out you’re a good guy, Mark.”
“Thank you,” Mark said, feeling his body tense again.
“Am I an annoying, smelly asshole?” Carl asked.
Yes, and a murderer, Mark thought, but said instead, “Not at all.”
Despite his best efforts, the remark came off as flippant and sarcastic, and Carl recognized the insincerity instantly. Carl stopped walking and took his arm away so swiftly that Mark lost his balance and fell on the trail and the granite. Suddenly, Carl was lording above him, the walking stick and the knife in front of him.
“Ungrateful,” Carl said. Even though Mark was staring at a knife taped to a walking stick, he gripped his own knife. Was this how it was going to go down? And if it was, he wasn’t going to live his last moments in fear. It was time to stand up.
But nature had other plans.
Mark’s eyes went wide, but not because of Carl’s knife and what could happen. Behind both of them was a 400-pound black bear. Perhaps it was Carl’s stench or that they crossed the wrong path, but the bear eyed them with curiosity. Mark started to back away, the adrenaline making his ankle less painful.
“This is even better,” Carl said. “I’ve always wanted to meet up with a bear and see how I’d stand up.”
“Carl, don’t,” Mark said, finding the bear spray attached to his belt. “The bear will win. Use the bear spray, and then we can get away.”
“Fuck that,” he said. “The thing to do is to confront the bear. It only responds to alpha strength.”
With that, Carl took two aggressive steps toward the bear, shook his makeshift spear, and let out a menacing scream. At first, the bear cocked its head to one side in curiosity. It wasn’t used to its authority being challenged. But then, it raised itself onto its back haunches and roared with a ferocity Mark had never experienced. Holding the bear spray, Mark backed behind a rock hidden by a bush.
Instead of backing down, Carl pushed forward. There was a menace to his laugh, as though he knew and accepted the fate that was laid before him. Mark felt an urge to give Carl a fighting chance. He gripped the bear spray and pulled the pin from behind the bush. He pushed the trigger, and a vile orange cloud of blazing hot capsicum blasted Carl and missed the bear,
“What the hell, Mark?” Carl screamed, falling down in a heap. Those words would haunt Mark for the rest of his life.
With a nimble quickness one doesn’t associate with a mammal that large, the bear pushed forward and swiped Carl with its right claw, slashing Carl across the neck. Carl, so tough and terrifying in his own right, went down like a rag doll. The bear was quickly on top of him, striking and slashing with a brutality that the civilized world cannot comprehend.
The bear only stopped after Mark emptied the rest of the can of bear spray at the beast. After snarling, sneezing, spitting, and shaking its head, the bear continued further down the trail in the opposite direction from Mark’s home.
Mark sat on the trail, his eyes transfixed on Carl. While he wasn’t sure if he would have perished on that trail if the bear hadn’t appeared, Mark wondered if Carl wanted this ending to his journey on the PCT. Why had he been on the trail for months?
After what seemed like an hour, Mark resolved to cover Carl’s body, put notes on the trail on both sides warning of the carnage that lay ahead, and mark the spot on his map so that he could let authorities know where to find what remained of Carl’s carcass.
Mark arrived at the destination four hours after his expected time. Laura nearly passed out when she saw some of Carl’s blood spattered on his shirt, until he reassured her it wasn’t his. Over the next couple of hours, he retold the story at least half a dozen times to various law enforcement and fish-and-game officials. At first, he was worried that he would be charged with Carl’s murder until some of his story was confirmed with the discovery of Todd’s body the day before. Plus, there was no doubt of the carnage that the bear left behind.
When they were done, he took his shower and crashed at the cabin for an entire day before he emerged from his three-day nightmare. Even when he awoke, he didn’t talk to Laura for a long time. He wasn’t sure if he’d tell the tale, but he knew he wouldn’t be hiking alone ever in his life.
About The Piano Man Chronicles
Piano Man, written by the fictional author Thomas Eberle, is a creative spark that connects a wide variety of stories, like a quiet ripple. I am writing three‑part arcs that introduce new people, new places, and new turning points, but the shared thread is how this one book nudges something in each of them.
Some characters read it.
Some argue with it.
Some only know it because someone they love won’t stop talking about it.
But for all of them, The Piano Man becomes a spark — a moment of reflection, change, or connection.
Guest authors, such as Sandolore Sykes JC Wesslen, and Andrew Robert Colom are contributing their own takes on the story, creating a wide world of literary interconnection. This project is meant to feel like wandering through a neighborhood at dusk, catching glimpses of lives in motion. You’re not following one plot; you’re following the echo of a story inside a story, watching how art lands differently in every life it touches.
The Birthday Party Underground
When washed-up rocker Cole takes a pity gig at his nephew’s birthday party, he expects juice boxes, tantrums, and the slow death of his dignity. What he doesn’t expect is applause, cash, and a new career path—one paved with glitter, chaos, and the occasional piñata-related injury.
Welcome to the children’s party circuit, where the princesses aren’t Disney-approved, the clowns have criminal records, and the magicians might be dabbling in more than sleight of hand. As Cole dives deeper into this surreal subculture, he finds himself entangled in illicit rendezvous with moms (divorced, married, and morally flexible), navigating the drug-laced underbelly of suburban affluence, and dodging emotional landmines disguised as balloon animals.
But beneath the costumes and confetti lies a question Sam can’t escape: Is this his second act or just another detour on the road to self-destruction?
Eberle’s Piano Man is a tragicomic romp through the absurdity of reinvention, where the music never stops, but the consequences keep piling up. Sharp, irreverent, and unexpectedly tender, it’s a backstage pass to the party you never knew you wanted to crash.
“A rock ballad wrapped in confetti and regret. Eberle’s prose is as sharp as a broken guitar string.”
— Javier Stone, author of The Last Encore
“Thomas Eberle has written the most unwholesome children’s party novel imaginable—and I mean that as high praise.”
— Mira Caldwell, author of Suburban Gothic
“A hilarious, heartbreaking descent into the party circuit’s glittery underworld. Think Almost Famous meets Bad Moms with a dash of Hunter S. Thompson.”
— The Sacramento Tribune