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the desk and closed my eyes. I had a little bit of prep work to do before I could focus my intuition on the cases in front of me.
    There are lots of people who think that psychics have all the answers. The very fact that we’re able to sense things that may not be obvious or even known makes us seem omnipotent. Nothing could be farther from the truth. Most of the intuitives that I know are just as lost as the rest of the world. And that was because intuition can be a tricky thing.
    It’s a complex language of metaphors and subtleties. An intuitive message can be crystal clear or completely muddled. And, as a rule, just when you think you’ve got the message figured out, you’ll discover that what you first thought wasn’t really it at all. To use intuition professionally, like I do, requires a whole lot of patience, skill, and concentration. To use intuition professionally also dictates that I be very careful about how I relate my interpretations. A psychic can be just as hurtful to a client as helpful. Go into a reading with the wrong intentions, and you can do some real damage—and unfortunately, there are some out there who use their intuitive gifts to take advantage of the vulnerable.
    However, more and more of us legitimate professionals are emerging to reverse the bad reputation that a few shameful charlatans have given psychics.
    The idea of responsibility swirled around in the back of my mind as I sat quietly in Dutch’s chair and got ready to turn my radar on. I didn’t want to screw up, especially on these case files, so my focus was especially critical this morning. I began by getting centered, which is simply the act of breathing deeply and really feeling each inhalation and exhalation. Once I was centered, I ran through all of my chakras—those energy points that line up along the spine—then called in the crew.
    My crew is made up of roughly five spirit guides. I’m not sure why I have five as opposed to two or three. Maybe the universe thought I needed a few more babysitters than most, and given my ability to get into trouble, five didn’t seem unreasonable at all.
    My master guide, or my primary contact, is an energy that identifies himself as Samuel. He’s a terrific guy as far as spirit guides go. Great sense of humor . . . usually at my expense, but who can blame him? Today, as I felt his energy come forward, I greeted him and asked for his assistance. His response was something along the lines of Hello, Abigail. It’s been a while. . . .
    I smirked and did a mental eye roll. ‘‘Yeah, yeah,’’ I said. ‘‘Maybe if you had given me a little heads-up before I got shot , I’d be checking in more often.’’
    His reply surprised me. The direction of your path needed to be decided. You could not have chosen if you had not been called to the other side. . . .
    I mulled that over for a minute. He seemed to be telling me that I’d needed to die in order to choose to live. Sometimes I hated how complicated this whole big-picture thing was. ‘‘Okay,’’ I said to him. ‘‘I’ll take your word for it, but just so you know—next time just have me choke on a cough drop or something, ’cuz taking a bullet hurts like a son of a bitch.’’
    There was laughter in my head, and it wasn’t just from Samuel. We are here to assist, Abigail, whenever you’re ready.
    Without opening my eyes, I reached my hands out to the folders on the desk and picked them up one by one, trying to decide in which order to proceed. The middle file called my attention first, so I set the other two aside and laid it flat on the desk, placing both palms down on top of it. In my mind’s eye, I saw a row of slot machines. ‘‘Gambling,’’ I mumbled and opened my eyes to reach for the pad of paper and a pencil. I scribbled that thought down and waited while my radar and my crew did their thing. A series of images flashed in my mind’s eye; one of them was truly confounding.
    In my mind I saw a long pipe and