"You-" Alby started, then suddenly grabbed his own throat, making gurgly choking sounds. His legs kicked out and he rolled onto his side, thrashing back and forth as if someone else were trying to strangle him […] Alby looked up, eyes droopy, as if he was on the edge of slipping into a deep sleep. "I'm sorry, Newt," he whispered. "Don't know what happened. It was like… something was controlling my body. (27.36, 47)

Newt pushed open the door, the slight creak once again reminding Thomas of some vague childhood memory of haunted-house movies. There it was again—the smallest glimpse at his past. He could remember movies, but not the actor's faces or with whom he'd watched them. He could remember theaters, but not what any specific one looked like. It was impossible to explain how that felt, even to himself. (27.8)

"I know who you are," Alby repeated slowly. "Seen it. Seen everything. Where we came from, who you are. Who the girl is. I remember the Flare." 

The Flare? Thomas forced himself to talk. "I don't know what you're talking about. What did you see? I'd love to know who I am." (27.32)