Really, really, really freaking out

Okay, so last night my next-door neighbor asked me if I got the flier.

I vaguely recalled that the mailboxes in my neighborhood had bright blue fliers stuck to them a few weeks ago. Figuring they were political campaign fliers, I wasn't heartbroken that my mailbox didn't have one.

"Nope. What was it about?"

"It was a safety alert -- about the pedophile that lives two doors down."

~ ~ ~

If that wasn't shock enough, the guy that lives two doors down is my landlord. MY FREAKING LANDLORD! THE GUY... WITH KEYS...TO...MY...HOUSE!

I looked on a couple of those watchdog websites (I have them all bookmarked and had even checked them BEFORE I rented my townhouse), but didn't see his name or address on any of the listings.

After locking my screen doors (he doesn't have keys for those), plus my deadbolts, and checking on the kids at least ten times each, I tried, but failed, to sleep. I didn't want to jump to conclusions based on second-hand info, but at this point, in my head, I was already packed and outta here.

So today I called my local police department and learned that he's not actually a pedophile - he hasn't done anything to kids. But he is a sex offender. The Sergeant told me that this guy's victims (OH. MY. GOD. He has victims!) were older - they were women (NOTE: PLURAL) in their early 20's.

This point of clarification makes me feel a little better, but not much. I'm feeling okay about my own safety, though my sweetie, Mark, isn't jazzed. Is offending young women a stepping stone to worse crimes like the way pot is a stepping stone to harder drugs?

Trying to not scare the hell out of the girls, I reminded them that they should NEVER go into any one's house without telling me first - even neighbors. And that if anyone ever told them to do something they knew was wrong (and I used the example of showing their underwear), even if that person told them not to tell me - that they should tell me right away. And I tried to, as earnestly as possible, assure them that they would NEVER get in trouble for telling me so.

It's all a little much to process. Mark told me we could move into his apartment building, that he'd even priced some 3-bedrooms. I don't know what to do. I don't want to overreact, but the thought of under-reacting - and having something happen...

Well, I just can't let my head go there.