You're almost there, the Billy in the reflection tells Hickey. You're so close. All you need to do is rummage around, look through those tins—there.

Hickey picks up a can of tomatoes. Or, at least, what's labeled on the outside as tomatoes. He knows quite well how the contents inside might not reflect what can appear on the label. But what's special about the tin of tomatoes is something small and reflective, sticking into the side of the tin, something no bigger than a fingernail.

As he leaves the store, the can is in one hand and the other hand is prying the small reflective thing out. "Thanks, mate," Hickey says, as he yanks the small shard of mirror free. "I—"

But then the entire world shifts underneath Hickey and he outright collapses.