There Should Have Been Eight Summary, Characters and Themes

There Should Have Been Eight is a psychological thriller and gothic suspense novel by Nalini Singh. Set against the haunting landscape of New Zealand’s Southern Alps, the story centers on a group of university friends reuniting at a remote estate years after the mysterious death of one of their own.

With chilling atmosphere, buried secrets, and the slow unraveling of trust, the novel explores how grief, guilt, and unspoken trauma can fracture even the closest of friendships. As the truth about the past emerges, so too does the realization that someone may be willing to kill to keep it hidden.

Summary 

Luna Wylie, a photographer facing permanent vision loss due to a degenerative condition, reunites with her former university friends for a retreat in the Southern Alps. The gathering, hosted by Darcie and her husband Ash at the secluded Shepherd estate, is meant to rekindle bonds long dormant.

But the trip is overshadowed by the memory of Bea, Darcie’s younger sister, who died years earlier under ambiguous circumstances. Bea was once a vibrant part of their group, and her absence is a silent weight everyone carries—none more so than Luna, who once loved her deeply.

The estate is large, brooding, and gothic, with burned-out wings and ancestral portraits that make the setting feel haunted by more than just memories. Upon arrival, the group—including Luna, Darcie, Ash, Phoenix, Vansi, Aaron, Kaea, and Grace (Aaron’s fiancée)—begins to experience strange occurrences.

Bea’s porcelain doll, believed to have been cremated with her, mysteriously appears. Whispers, cold spots, and inexplicable movements throughout the house grow increasingly unsettling.

Luna starts to suspect that someone is actively trying to manipulate the group into believing Bea’s spirit is still present—or worse, that she never died at all. Tensions rise.

Old wounds reopen as secrets and suppressed emotions resurface. Luna is frustrated by Darcie’s evasiveness about Bea’s final days and the vague story surrounding her cremation.

Luna had once found Bea’s necklace hidden in Darcie’s belongings, sparking suspicions she’s kept hidden for years. The others have their own secrets.

Phoenix and Bea may have shared a complicated history. Vansi suspects Phoenix of infidelity.

Ash—who had a romantic past with Bea—has his own reasons for being guarded. Emotional instability escalates into physical danger.

An accident on the icy grounds nearly injures Grace. Threatening messages appear in people’s luggage.

Someone rearranges personal items. A storm soon isolates the group, cutting off all communication and trapping them with their growing paranoia.

Luna uses her camera to record everything, hoping that it will capture truths her failing eyes can no longer detect. Luna uncovers more of Bea’s personal writings.

The notes reveal Bea’s intentions to leave her life behind before she died. They also hint at fear—of someone close—and suggest that her death might not have been accidental.

As suspicions grow, Luna and Kaea confront the group with their findings. They discover a video recording Bea made before her death, hidden in a false drawer.

In it, Bea states: “If anything happens to me, ask Darcie why I stayed.” Confronted with undeniable proof, Darcie breaks down.

She admits that Bea had been pregnant and was planning to leave Ash and her toxic ties behind. Darcie, desperate to keep Bea close and protect the family’s reputation, begged her to stay.

During a confrontation, Ash and Bea argued, resulting in Bea’s injury. Rather than get help, Ash and Darcie hid Bea in the estate’s burned-out wing.

Bea remained alive for days before dying from her injuries. Darcie buried her near the mausoleum and fabricated the cremation.

As the storm clears, Luna uses the recovered photos and documents to alert authorities. Ash is arrested for manslaughter and evidence tampering, while Darcie is institutionalized.

The group fractures permanently. Vansi and Phoenix part ways.

Grace leaves Aaron. Luna walks away irrevocably changed.

In the final chapter, Luna, nearly blind, completes her last photographic project. Her exhibition, titled “There Should Have Been Eight,” is both a tribute to Bea and an indictment of the lies that destroyed them all.

It is a haunting reminder of the cost of silence and the fragility of trust.

Characters 

Luna Wylie

Luna Wylie, the novel’s protagonist, is both a literal and metaphorical observer. As a professional photographer grappling with degenerative vision loss, Luna’s perspective shapes the narrative’s emotional and visual lens.

Her impending blindness adds a sense of urgency and vulnerability, making her not only the story’s investigator but also its most emotionally grounded figure. Luna is haunted by her unresolved grief for Bea, her complex history with each member of the group, and her own complicity in past silences.

Her inner turmoil is intensified by the secrets she uncovers and the suspicion that one of her dearest friends might be a murderer. Luna’s strength lies in her tenacity and emotional intelligence.

She doesn’t shy away from confronting painful truths. Her gradual evolution—from a passive witness to an assertive truth-seeker—is one of the novel’s most compelling transformations.

Her art becomes both a coping mechanism and a weapon of truth. It reveals things even her failing eyes can no longer see.

Darcie Shepherd

Darcie is one of the most complex and tragic figures in the novel. Outwardly poised and maternal, especially during her pregnancy, she unravels progressively as the narrative peels away her layers.

Her relationship with Bea, her younger sister, is one of obsession, possessiveness, and emotional dependency. Darcie’s need to control Bea’s life—and death—stems from a deep-rooted insecurity and an overwhelming fear of abandonment.

She becomes an unreliable narrator within the group, drifting between guilt, manipulation, and delusion. Her breakdowns, hallucinations, and erratic behavior serve as red herrings, obscuring her culpability.

Ultimately, Darcie is not a villain in the conventional sense, but a deeply damaged person whose choices caused irreparable harm. Her love for Bea was real but toxic.

It was shaped by a warped sense of protection and self-justification. Her final confession—about letting Bea suffer and die slowly, and then concealing the body—cements her tragic role as both victimizer and victim of her own emotional fragility.

Beatrice “Bea” Shepherd

Bea is the ghost who haunts every page of the novel. Though she is physically absent, her presence is overwhelmingly felt through memories, journals, photographs, and hallucinations.

Bea was vibrant, emotionally fragile, and yearning for independence. Her desire to escape the suffocating control of her sister Darcie and find her own path, especially once she became pregnant, places her at the center of the novel’s tragic core.

Bea’s character is shaped through the testimonies of others and her own fragmented writings. They reveal a woman torn between loyalty and liberation.

Her fear of someone within the group, her secret relationship with Ash, and her plans to leave all point to a life stifled by secrets. Bea represents innocence lost and the consequence of silenced voices.

Her death is not merely the result of one violent act. It is the cumulative effect of emotional neglect, manipulation, and betrayal.

Ash Shepherd

Ash is a figure burdened by regret, secrecy, and moral cowardice. Initially seen as the dependable husband of Darcie and former lover of Bea, he slowly emerges as one of the central catalysts of the tragedy.

His involvement with both sisters is fraught with betrayal. Ash’s failure lies in his inability to act decisively or ethically.

He knew about Bea’s pregnancy, engaged in a confrontation that led to her injury, and then conspired to hide the truth instead of seeking help. While not a malicious figure, Ash is a cautionary tale of what happens when fear overrides conscience.

His guilt eats away at him, yet he allows Darcie to carry much of the psychological burden alone. His character arc is not redemptive, but revelatory.

He represents the silent complicity that often accompanies violence within close-knit groups. Ash is a moral vacuum where intervention was most needed.

Phoenix (“Nix”)

Phoenix is one of the more emotionally subdued characters. He is often seen as aloof or introspective.

Married to Vansi but emotionally distant, Phoenix is still entangled in the emotional aftermath of Bea’s death. His confession of once having feelings for Bea reopens old wounds, especially with Luna and Vansi.

It adds a layer of complexity to his stoic demeanor. Phoenix functions as a symbol of suppressed emotion and unresolved grief.

His reluctance to confront the past head-on isolates him from the group and from his wife. While not directly involved in Bea’s demise, his passivity and emotional unavailability are part of the group’s broader dynamic of silence and avoidance.

Vansi

Vansi’s character is defined by simmering resentment and quiet observance. Married to Phoenix, yet feeling increasingly alienated, she navigates the reunion with a sense of growing disillusionment.

Vansi is deeply perceptive, sensing the emotional undercurrents and secrets among the group. Her withdrawal is both a self-protective measure and a subtle protest against the performative nature of the group’s togetherness.

She represents the price of staying in relationships that are emotionally unfulfilling. She also embodies the loneliness that can fester within marriages built on half-truths.

Though not central to the mystery, Vansi’s emotional intelligence allows her to see the group more clearly than many others. Her quiet strength is evident in her detachment and insight.

Aaron

Aaron is both loyal and pragmatic. He acts as a stabilizing force amidst the emotional chaos.

As Grace’s fiancé and Luna’s old friend, he attempts to remain neutral but increasingly finds himself drawn into the storm. His relationship with Grace is strained by the group’s secrets.

Aaron’s moral compass is tested as the truth about Bea begins to emerge. His character is built around the struggle between loyalty and justice.

He aids Luna in developing the crucial photographic evidence. He serves as a reluctant detective, helping piece together the fragmented story.

His evolution from a passive participant to someone who takes concrete action aligns with the novel’s theme of awakening from emotional blindness. Aaron ultimately steps into a role of conscience when others hesitate.

Grace

Grace begins as something of an outsider, having joined the group through her engagement to Aaron. Her discomfort grows as she realizes the depth of dysfunction and secrecy among the others.

Grace is perceptive and increasingly alarmed by the psychological games and shifting alliances. As the mystery unfolds, she begins to suspect that she is being manipulated and gaslighted.

This is particularly evident when her belongings are tampered with. Her decision to eventually leave Aaron underscores her refusal to be part of a toxic and deceptive environment.

Grace’s moral clarity, though initially sidelined, becomes a subtle rebuke to the group’s long-standing complicity. She exits the story not with trauma, but with integrity.

Kaea

Kaea is a quieter presence in the group. He often acts as a mediator and grounding influence.

His role grows as the mystery deepens. He aligns closely with Luna in her quest for truth.

Kaea provides emotional support without overshadowing others. His patience and practicality become crucial when the group begins to unravel.

His steady demeanor and lack of ego allow him to function as a bridge between fractured members of the group. Though not directly connected to Bea’s death, his loyalty and willingness to help uncover the truth illustrate the novel’s ideal of friendship rooted in honesty and compassion.

Kaea is the unsung ally whose calm presence lends gravity to Luna’s pursuit of justice.

Themes 

The Persistence of Grief

Grief is one of the central emotional undercurrents in the novel, shaping not only the past but the present lives of the characters. Luna’s internal conflict—stemming from the loss of her friend Bea—forms the emotional bedrock of the narrative.

Even though years have passed since Bea’s death, the intensity of the mourning remains raw, not only for Luna but for nearly every character. This grief is neither passive nor neatly compartmentalized; instead, it is unresolved and entangled with guilt, suspicion, and anger.

For Luna, grief is compounded by her degenerating eyesight, which becomes symbolic of her fear of forgetting Bea and of losing the clarity she needs to make sense of the past. The return to the estate where Bea once lived reawakens emotional wounds for each character, revealing that grief is not only personal but also collective—and perhaps corrosive when left unspoken.

The title itself, There Should Have Been Eight, echoes this theme. It’s a lamentation, a tribute, and an accusation all at once, forcing the characters—and the readers—to confront the absences that shape their lives more than any presence could.

Grief here is not a closed chapter but a mystery that begs to be reopened, examined, and felt anew.

The Fragility and Performance of Friendship

At its core, the novel interrogates the bonds of friendship, especially the illusions and performances that often sustain them. The group’s reunion is initially portrayed as an attempt to rekindle old ties, but the setting quickly reveals how fragile those ties have become.

Beneath the veneer of warmth lies jealousy, resentment, secrecy, and betrayal. The friendships in this novel are built on years of shared experience, but also on years of silence—on things not said, on truths suppressed.

As the group isolates within the eerie Shepherd estate, the emotional masks begin to crack. Luna begins to suspect everyone, and everyone suspects each other.

The emotional betrayals—such as Phoenix’s unresolved love for Bea, Darcie’s manipulations, and Ash’s deception—reveal that the characters were never truly honest or emotionally intimate with one another. Their friendships were curated performances that could not survive scrutiny or crisis.

When Bea’s past is unearthed, it becomes clear that even her life was lived in the shadow of these performances. The group’s breakdown illustrates that closeness without truth is not closeness at all.

The friendships are not destroyed by Bea’s death—they were already broken; her death merely forces them to see it.

Truth, Secrecy, and the Weight of Lies

The novel is, in many ways, a meditation on the burden of secrets and the long, often catastrophic shadow they cast. Each character holds back critical truths, and these silences are not neutral—they shape the reality others live in.

Luna’s discovery of Bea’s journal, the flash drive, and the manipulated relics around the estate all point toward a constructed narrative—a deliberate effort to bury the truth. What makes this theme particularly potent is that the lies are not only told to protect oneself but often to control how others remember or interpret events.

Darcie’s concealment of Bea’s final days is a deeply disturbing example. In trying to protect herself and the family’s image, she denied Bea dignity, support, and perhaps a chance at survival.

Ash’s decision to hide his role in the fatal confrontation with Bea is driven by panic, but it ultimately warps the entire group’s understanding of the past. These compounded lies culminate in an atmosphere of uncertainty and dread where no one can trust what they see or remember.

The truth is not just hidden—it is actively rewritten, distorted. The novel challenges the reader to consider how lies, especially those rooted in fear and shame, can fundamentally reshape memory, morality, and even justice.

Sight, Perception, and the Limits of Knowing

Luna’s degenerative eyesight is not merely a physical condition—it becomes a metaphor for perception and the unreliability of knowing. Throughout the novel, vision is a recurring motif: what can be seen, what is missed, what is misremembered.

Luna, a photographer by profession, relies on her camera not just to capture beauty, but to bear witness. As her vision dims, her dependence on photographic evidence becomes a way of affirming her reality.

Yet, even photographs can lie—or be staged, as the manipulated images of Bea suggest. The other characters, too, are “blind” in various ways: blind to each other’s pain, to the truths of the past, to the consequences of their actions.

This theme complicates the idea of memory as truth. Everyone in the group remembers Bea differently, depending on their emotional entanglements and personal guilt.

The novel uses physical sight as an allegory for emotional insight—reminding us that seeing is not understanding, and understanding does not always lead to truth. Luna’s blindness becomes an ironic counterpoint to her role as the story’s sharpest observer.

The contrast between what is visible and what is true underscores the novel’s psychological tension and gothic unease.

Guilt, Complicity, and Moral Responsibility

Another significant theme in the novel is the weight of guilt and the blurred lines between bystander and perpetrator. While Ash and Darcie are ultimately revealed to be the most directly responsible for Bea’s death, the other characters are not absolved.

Each of them ignored signs, dismissed Bea’s pleas, or allowed group dynamics to silence difficult conversations. Luna, in particular, wrestles with guilt—not because she directly harmed Bea, but because she failed to act when her instincts told her something was wrong.

The novel interrogates how complicity often stems from inaction rather than intent. This moral gray zone becomes the emotional terrain in which all characters must navigate their reckoning.

Guilt in the novel is not always accompanied by accountability, which makes it more corrosive. Darcie’s final confession is not cathartic—it is devastating, because it reveals how guilt motivated by fear can lead to monstrous acts.

In this story, guilt is not just a response to wrongdoing—it is a symptom of emotional paralysis. It is the inability to confront one’s own moral failures until it’s too late.

This theme challenges the notion that justice is clear-cut. Instead, it asks the reader to sit with the discomfort of shared responsibility and the consequences of silence.